


Fulfilment

by distractionpie



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull Prompt Sunday, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Dorian, Cooking, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Miscommunication, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Protection, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 27,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4930309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractionpie/pseuds/distractionpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Proper archiving for any Adoribull Prompt Sunday ficlets I write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. BAMF Dorian protecting Bull

Dorian loathes being the Inquisitor's chosen mage when they're battling Templars, because so many of his usual tricks are near to useless against opponents with such a strong resistance to magic.

Still, he's not expecting the smite.

Red lyrium increases the Templars' physical strength but it seems to have a detrimental effect on their ability to use abilities requiring more finesse. The Inquisitor had insisted that Dorian have at least a few training sessions with trusted Inquisition Templars and he's practised being subjected to the full range of Templar abilities, but either the Templars the Inquisitor had found for him were astonishingly weak or Corypheus' people have found a way to counteract the negative effect red lyrium has on Templar abilities so that they are as much advanced in that area as any other.

He's knocked backwards by the force of it, and when he tries to conjure a barrier his heart races and his stomach churns but nothing whatsoever happens. This Templar has not just diminished Dorian's mana, he's drained it entirely.

Little as he likes it when his comrades are still fighting, Dorian has enough sense to know that the best option he has now is to retreat and keep himself intact while he waits for his mana to replenish.

He slips behind a rock, pondering the best way to approach a retreat given the lack of cover in the desert when he hears a roar, not a battle-cry, but a bellow of pain.

Dorian is turning without a thought, seeking out where Bull lies. His right arm is badly bloodied and although Dorian can't fathom how his maul lies several yards outside of his reach, and Templars stand between him and it. The Inquisitor and Cassandra are too far across the field to reach him, even if they were able to divert themselves from their own opponents.

Dorian shakes out his shoulders and sprints in Bull's direction, placing himself between the Qunari and three oncoming Templars.

He holds steady, staring down the Templars and waiting for them to come into his range and then-

CLANG!

The Templar foolish enough to be the first to take his chances staggers backwards, ears no doubt wringing from the force with which Dorian swung the shaft of his shaft into the man's helmet.

Dorian takes a moment to revel in it, but then the man's allies are both rushing him. The range of motion offered by his bared shoulder is handy for more elaborate staff-work while casting, but it's when he's forced to depend on physical combat that he really reaps the benefits of his freedom of movement. He bends low, scraping the end of his staff across the ground and whipping up the sand between them, obscuring what little vision the Templars have through the eye-slits of their helmets and reverses his grip, spinning the staff to alternate cuts of the blade with more solid blows from the shaft. Then he lashes out.

He's not as in practise as he ought to be at this, some of his blocks come nearly too late, one blow only deflected after the tip of the Templars sword has grazed his arm, but he keeps up a rain of fast paced blows, forcing the Templars to focus on their defences so that they cannot overwhelm him.

First the one who'd cut him, and then the second of the Templars who'd held back, fallsa to the ground, exhausted or unconscious Dorian can' t tell, leaving him once again one on one with the Templar who'd head he'd rattled.

Reaching deep, Dorian draws on the minuscule part of his mana which has regenerated and draws a barrier up over himself and Bull, then charges forward.

It takes his whole weight behind the blow, but the point of his blade pierces the Templar's breastplate and when he withdraws it there is a revolting squelch and the Templar falls, blood gushing from the hole in his armour.

Dorian walks over to the two other fallen Templars, slipping his staff blade between the gaps between their helmets and gorgets and slitting both their throats. A few yards away he can see Cassandra and the Inquisitor handily finishing off the last of their own opponents, so he ignores them, dragging his staff blade through the sand to get the worst of the viscera off of it.

“Damn...”

Dorian glances over his shoulder to see Bull sitting on the ground, as casually as if they were in camp, and watching him admiringly.

“Oh of course,” Dorian grumbles. “Why ever would you get up and make yourself useful when you can sit back and enjoy the show.”

“Don't mind if I do.”

Dorian doesn't bother holding a hand out to Bull to help him up. The Qunari will stand in his own due time, and attempting to assist seems more likely to end in Dorian being pulled down to join him on the floor.

“Didn't know you could do that with your staff,” Bull comments. Up close his arm doesn't look as badly wounded as it had seemed at a distance, the bleeding already stopped.

“I can do a great many things with my staff,” Dorian retorts, even though he knows he's giving Bull and opening, but surprisingly Bull just laughs.

“You should come and train with the chargers sometimes. A couple of the boys use polearms, but I reckon you've got some nice tricks you could show 'em.”

Dorian shrugs. “I suppose it couldn't hurt to practise this a little more, especially if the Inquisitor is going to keep pitting me against Templars.”

“Bet you've got some tricks you could show me as well,” Bull adds with a leer, and Dorian sighs, knowing full well that for Bull that will be answer enough.


	2. Percieved unrequited

It's a mistake he's made before.

Mostly he'd done it as a schoolboy, misguided infatuations that he'd been educated on the consequences of, and he'd thought he'd learned better upon reaching adulthood, but apparently not.

Don't expect more.

It was such a simple rule. One which had been drilled into him for years. It was for his own good after all. Expectations were an invitation for disappointment. Maybe circumstances were different in the south, but that didn't mean miracles were about to occur.

No strings attached.

That was what they'd started, what he'd thought would make him happy, but apparently he'd gotten himself all tangled up anyway. It had been so easy to slip – to stay in Bull's bed because it was warm and comfortable; to laugh at his jokes because they were damnably funny; to eat their meals together because why wouldn't they?

And now he was staying in Bull's bed because it made him feel safe and comfortable, to laugh at dismal jokes because Bull always looked so delighted when he did, to eat his meals with Bull because he was hungry for more of the man's company.

Bull was far too good and Dorian should have known better. The way Bull was with him was addictive, Dorian has found himself craving the casual touches, the sly remarks and easy praise. They way that Bull makes him feel special.

But he isn't.

Making people feel good is The Iron Bull's thing. Something he'd do just as unhesitatingly for his chargers and friendly merchants passing through Skyhold, and every single maker-damned serving girl. The careful attention he lavishes upon Dorian isn't a reflection of any particular draw of Dorian's, just Bull's nature, augmented by years of Ben-Hassrath training that allows Bull to see, perhaps even better than Cole, what people need and give it to them.

But now there's nothing that Bull can do to satisfy Dorian’s wants, because Dorian just wants him.

And that was never the deal.


	3. Rain kisses

Water seems to be falling from the sky in sheets as they make their way through the Emerald Graves and has been for hours, a persistent torrent of humid rain. Most of the time when it rains in the south it comes down as an icy drizzle and Bull has to put up with how the tiny droplets gather on his horns and then cascade in an icy stream onto his shoulders. This rain though is hot and heavy and reminds Bull of home

Somebody who’d spent less time around Dorian might thing that given the heat and the lack of walking corpses he might complain less about this weather than he had the rain in the Fallow Mire or Crestwood. Bull knows better.

The Inquisitor and Sera are a way ahead, close enough to see, or shout to in the event of an emergency, but far enough that’s it’s only Bull who can here Dorian’s muttered complaints as he pushes his drenched hair off of his forehead for the third time in as many minutes.

Bull isn’t sure when he started finding complaining cute, but he does.

It doesn’t help that the rain is clumping Dorian’s eyelashes, making them look even thicker and darker than usual (mystifyingly his kohl isn’t smeared at all – that’s mages for you), and while Bull is sure he’d deny it if asks, Dorian is pouting.

Bull is good with temptation, never lets himself overindulge on a job, but the Inquisition cleared out the Graves weeks ago and they’ve only had one skirmish all day, it’s practically a pleasant nature walk. He stops, turns, and laughs when Dorian, absorbed by his own frustration, walks right into him.

“Kaffas… what are you-”

Bull kisses him. Turns out kissing somebody with a wet moustache is kinda ticklish, but Dorian’s lips are damp and his usual taste of residual electricity combines with the rain on his lips until it’s like kissing a storm.

Bull pulls back, and the tilt of his head sends water rushing down his right horn, dripping onto Dorian’s shoulder. Oh well – it’s not like any of them aren’t wet already.

Dorian is swearing again, grumbling about what he’s going to do about Bull now, as well as the adverse effects of the rain on his robes and the humidity on his hair. A few of his suggestions actually sound like they’d make for a pretty good time, but Bull’ll probably have to work him up a bit before telling him that.


	4. grey and purple

 

The marks on Dorian’s neck are not from him and the Iron Bull must reign in his annoyance at that fact. The man who put them there is dead, Dorian had burnt him right down to dust, and the bruises are the only thing left behind.

A grim reminder than despite all of Dorian’s prowess in combat all it would have taken is another minutes and some upstart bandit who didn’t even have the guts to face him head on would have choked the life right out of him.

Dorian had laughed it off as if the rasp in his voice wasn’t just another piece of damning evidence, and pointed out that he’d acquired worse bruises during their play. Bull had needed to restrain himself from reminding Dorian of how different the two were, that he was never in any danger from Bull, the difference between doing hurt and doing harm. Dorian knew. The jokes and the dismissal were his ways of dealing, ways that Bull knew well.

Still, he’d made it a quiet night. Spread Dorian out on their bed and massaged him until he was nearly boneless, then stretched him out and fucked him slow and steady to finish the job.

Now Dorian is sleepy and sated in his arms, but Bull can’t help but run his fingers along the bruises, none of the usual sharp contrast between his grey skin and Dorian’s tan, just mottled purple which turns to blue and green under his touch.

They’re both lucky that it’s just bruises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOSH sometrashland on tumblr did some ABSOLUTELY gorgeous art inspired by this fill which [you should go and look at right now over here](http://sometrashland.tumblr.com/post/134409268838/purple-grey-is-a-read/) (nsfw image)


	5. Tevinter mourning clothes (are not something Bull is familiar with)

Bull was supposed to be getting another round in for his guys when a flash of gold caught his eye. Gold wasn’t something you saw much of in a place like Cabot’s so he turned and took in the figure perched on a stool at the far end of the bar. It had been the flash of a reflection off the man’s watch which had caught his eye, but it was the rest of the man’s appearance which held it.

He was wearing a weird long shirt in a weighty looking dark red fabric, cut like something between a graduation gown and a dress, which was weird, but Bull wasn’t one to judge. It should have looked awkward or ridiculous, but instead Bull found himself admiring the way the fabric clung to the broad span of the man’s shoulders and flowed down to the cinch of a gold belt at his waist. It was a shame the draping skirt part covered his ass, because if the rest of him was anything to go by it was likely phenomenal. He stood out, somebody who was clearly loaded and, going by the tanned bronze of his skin, a vint, in Cabot’s, but he wasn’t holding himself like some college student out on an adventure, he seemed solid in his skin.

It seemed like a closer look was in order.

Bull walked over to the man, ignoring the elven bartender glaring daggers at him. Damn Tevinter class bullshit, he didn’t blame her for whatever resentment she had, but he wasn’t about to let it put him off either.

Up close he could see that the vint had one hell of a profile to match his body, all cheekbones and an aristocratic nose, paired with a slightly ruffled looking moustache and pouty dark pink lips. Apparently he could feel Bull staring, because startlingly intense grey eyes locked on his own.

Face on Bull could see a hint of bags under the vint’s eyes, any sign of dark shadows was covered by some cosmetic or another, but it wasn’t enough conceal things entirely. The guy looked tired, more stressed than hungover, and Bull wondered if he should back off. He certainly wasn’t gonna try hitting on a guy who looked as fed up with the world as this one did, but there was no harm in a compliment to cheer the guy up.

“The red makes you look drop-dead gorgeous,” Bull commented, letting the remark fall from his lips as if idle rather than carefully chosen.

In truth it comes out flirtier than he meant it too, but it’s still a surprise when the guy looked up at him with murder in his eyes. “Pardon?”

Bull shrugged, backing up and wondering if he’d done an even worse job of reading this guy that he thought. Bull’s usually got a knack for avoiding guys who wouldn’t take a compliment from him nicely, either because he’s a man or because of the whole qunari thing, but even the best slipped up sometimes. “Red and gold look like they’re your colours,” he says, “And that whole robe style suits you.”

For a moment Bull thought he was about to get hit, which wouldn’t have bothered him that much because the guy was fit and pretty tall for a human but still human, then the guy slams his drink back in one, snatching his wallet off of the bar, and as he turns away Bull can see tears in his eyes.

Fuck. Bull would rather have been hit. He’s fucked this up badly, even if he’s not sure how.

The guy is already on his way out of the door though, even given that Bull isn’t even sure what went wrong, he’s not sure there’s anything he can do shooting blind that would help him fix this. Instead he makes his way back over to his guys.

“Shit, chief, I know you’ve taken some knocks to the head but I didn’t think your memory was that bad,” Stiches jibed when Bull returned to his seat.

Right. The drinks. “Got distracted,” he admitted. “Guy down the other end of the bar, damn pretty thing, all done up in some kind of red and gold robe, fancy like. Got all upset when I complimented him on it though. Dunno what that was about.”

 “Uh… chief…” Krem was grimacing. Not good.

“What’s up?”

“It’s just… was this guy a vint?”

Bull nodded. Krem’s grimace deepened. “Old-school red and gold robes are… well, it’s a bit of an old-fashioned Tevinter tradition but it’s still big with the upper classes…”

The guy Bull spoke to was definitely upper class, and now Bull was kind of concerned as to what the symbolism was that he’d missed. “Get to it.”

“Sounds like he was wearing mourning clothes, chief. And widower’s robes at that.”

Bull’s stomach dropped. Crap. And he’d called the guy drop dead gorgeous in them. It the guy had hit him he’d have deserved it.

There’s an awkward silence at the table as his guys take in the enormity of how badly Bull had messed up there, and then he stands. “I’m gonna step outside,” he said, stomach in knots at the thought of hurting a stranger that badly, even unwittingly. Krem stood as well. Bull didn’t really want company, just wanted a few minutes to get his head on straight, but he wasn’t about to tell Krem to push off either.

It was unseasonably cold outside, a stiff breeze whipping across the car park and sending a flurry of litter spinning across their path. But Bull’s eyes were caught once again by a glimpse of unexpected colour. The widower in red was standing by a sleek black sports car and seemingly in the process of turning out his pockets.

“Oh. He’s still here,” Bull said, kind of surprised since the guy had seemed to be aiming for a speedy escape when Bull had spoken with him. “Over by the gate. You think I should apologise?”

There was a momentary pause, and then, “Venhedis, Bull…” The look on Krem’s face drew him up short. It wasn’t the wry exasperation he’d expect at Krem seeing just how damned pretty the vint Bull had pissed off was, no, it was more like the look Krem saved for when he’d just realised they were in deep shit. “That’s Dorian Pavus.”

Bull frowned. Nope. Didn’t ring a bell. “Who?”

“Dorian Pavus. Alti. Son of Magister Halward Pavus and heir to half of Qarinus. Dropped out of the public eye about a month ago after his wife turned up dead and then his ex-fiancée accused him of _murdering her_.”

Well… that was one reason for the guy to be dressed as a widower and slumming it in a border town bar. “You think he did it?” Bull asked.

Krem shrugged. “The cops don’t, there were no charges, they’re saying it was natural causes and the ex is just trying to start shit. Still a pretty fucking huge scandal though. Pavus is a big reformist, anti-blood magic, pro-LGBT-rights and non-humans in positions of power, he campaigned for Magister Tilani on that bill that got the minimum wage pushed up the other year, so there’s a lot of people who’d be happy to use a dead wife against him, murdered or not. And his reaction _was_ fucking weird, vanishing instead of speeches about commemorating her in policy and shit. Not like a politician at all.”

Bull looked back over to where the vint, Dorian, stood – fumbling with the keys of a car that he was clearly nowhere even close to sober enough to be driving. That was the problem with pretty, it apparently made Bull overlook the fact that someone like Dorian being present somewhere like this, and in the sort of state the guy was in, was shifty as fuck. And Dorian was too busy trying to make his exit to notice that Bull wasn’t the only one with an eye on him. The angry elven chick at the bar was headed in his direction and while she was doing a decent job of hiding the knife she was carrying, it wasn’t good enough to slip past Bull’s notice. Dorian would never see it coming though.

Well shit.


	6. meet cute

Dorian loathes the subway. It’s crowded and it’s dirty and it smells, even on the best of days.

Today is not the best of days.

He’d overslept and needed to skip breakfast to make it out of his apartment on time and had two client appointments cancelled, meaning two unnecessary trips across the city, plus an emergency videoconference which prevented him from eating lunch and now he’s running on caffeine and irritation.

He keeps being jostled by the absurdly large backpacks of two tourists standing in beside him, who seem more interested in attempting to capture the train’s signage in their selfies than in showing any sort of consideration for the people around them, but he’s doing an acceptable job of gritting his teeth and bearing it, right up until the point the train rounds a corner and the two tourists overbalance into each other, their bags both knocking into him and sending him flying.

He experiences a moment of disorientation as he falls, followed by seething anger which is stopped short by a second wave of disorientation as he realises he’s his neither the wall nor the floor.

Instead he’d landed on a pair of broad denim-clad thighs, his face and upper body pressed against the warm skin, startlingly soft except for the jagged scar beneath his left palm, and firm muscle of an enormous chest.

Kaffas. Who thinks going shirtless on public transport is acceptable?

He jerks upwards, too annoyed to apologise for falling on the stranger, and then is hit by a wave of dizziness and topples, ending up right back where he started.

“Whoa there big guy. Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Dorian snaps, bristling at being spoken to as if he’s some sort of recalcitrant pony. He shifts his weight, wants to get up and out of this strangers lap, but he’s not sure trying won’t just end with him falling for a third time.

The man laughs and Dorian turns to look at him. Seated as he is he’s of a height with Dorian, impressive given the advantage Dorian has from being atop the man’s thigh. He’s got a grizzled looking face, scarred and unshaven with a patch over one eye, features which might be harsh if not for how relaxed looking his smile is, as if strangers topple onto his lap on a regular basis.

“You sure you’re okay?” the man asks, sounding a little amused but also more concerned than any normal person would be for a stranger as he says, “You’re looking a little unsteady there.”

As if on cue, Dorian’s stomach growls.

“Aw… shoulda guessed. You look like the sort of high flying type that would go around skipping meals like you’re not one of us mere mortals who needs it for fuel.”

The man doesn’t look as if he’s skipped a meal in his life, but he carries it well, not ripped but solid, all broad shoulders and bulky muscles as he tugs a granola bar out of his pocket and offers it to Dorian. He doesn’t look like the type of man to eat granola, but since coming south Dorian’s grown to accept that appearances can be deceiving.

Dorian hesitates for a few seconds before accepting the offering. His nannies and tutors had been stricter than those of his peers when it came to reminding Dorian never to accept anything, especially not food or drink, from strangers. His father had too many enemies for that. But Dorian’s safety hasn’t been an effective threat against his father in years, and anyway, they’re hundreds of miles from Tevinter, the bar’s wrapping is seal and Dorian is ravenous.

“Dorian Pavus,” he says instead, offering his name in exchange for the snack.

“Iron Bull,” the man replies, and Dorian nods and doesn’t ask because maker knows it’s not the weirdest thing he’s heard. “How do you feel about dinner?”


	7. night at the museum au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I was prompted with cowboys, got completely stuck and went in a different direction altogether... this is pretty much crack.

"You don't belong here," Dorian said, staring at the man in front of him. A Qunari. In the strangest looking hat he'd ever seen.

The Qunari stared back. "And you do? Only people 'round here wearing skirts are the saloon girls, and they tend to have a few more curves and a little less facial hair."

Dorian huffed, and then wheezed a little, still out of breath from the long climb he'd made to here. "I am in 17th century America aren't I?" he checked.

"Not expecting to see a Qunari?" the Qunari asked, "I'm The Iron Bull, though most folks just call me Bull. You ain't the first to hear about Jed's sloppy attitudes to accuracy, there's plenty here came from other exhibits."

Dorian couldn't help but stiffen as Bull clapped a hand on his shoulder, and Bull clearly noticed as he pulled back immediately, asking, "You're clearly a vint, but when're you from?"

"I... ah, the Dragon Age Tevinter revolution," Dorian confessed and Bull flinched. "Oh, so you've heard of me."

"That's a bloody bit of history you've walked away from," Bull said.

Dorian nodded, glancing over to the sheet of glass behind which his people repeated their bloody revolution each night. "I have a job to do, I know, but..."

Bull shook his head, "Nah. Nobody here would judge you. Like I said, Jed's not too bothered about keeping things how they're supposed to be, he's gone all the way outside the museum. Having history repeat itself every night and nobody ever learning..." Bull shook his head, eyes going dark and distant, and Dorian recalled that the museum's collection of Qunari miniatures were focused on the fall of Seheron.

"I should..." Dorian began, gesturing further into the exhibit, not sure how he was going to end that sentence. Go? Mingle? Avoid the Qunari? Continue ignoring the fact he was abandoning his people for a rumour of freedom from a role he'd been acting out for years.

"You should come get a drink," Bull declared, "Get to meet some people, learn how to place runs. How much do you actually know about this period? I could give you a crash course."

Nothing at all, Dorian didn't say, but whispers of something different, modern and hopeful. "Alright," Dorian said with a nod. "Let's begin with this - what in the maker's name are you wearing on your head?"

"It's a stetson. Don't worry little vint," Bull said, "Jed'll have you kitted out with one soon enough."

"I think not," Dorian said. "I'd sooner go back to Tevinter for a beheading."


	8. Dragon's tooth - outsider PoV

"Is something wrong?"

Dorian looked up from where he'd been frowning over his books. "I am deep in thought," he said solemnly. "Did you ever decide what you were going to do about that dragon on the Storm Coast?"

Adaar sighed. "I know it needs dealing with, I've been getting complaints about it from our allies in the Blades of Hessarian, but after what happened with Bull and the attempt at making an alliance with the Qunari..." she shook her head, that afternoon had been painful for them both. As much as she hadn't really wanted the Qunari anywhere near her or her people in the Inquisition, she'd hated the way that Gatt had sneered at her as if her order for Bull to sound the retreat for the chargers proved every prejudicial thing the Qun had no doubt taught him about mages, and about women in combat. For Bull, who'd once actually valued his opinion, she knew it must have been a thousand times worse. "I just - I don't think it's a good idea to take him there right now."

Dorian nodded, but there was a sly look on his face, the one he acquired when he thought that he was being both subtle and clever, as he said, "You know, it's not necessary to take Bull along. You wanted to take Blackwall out to the coast anyway to look for those Warden artefacts, I'm sure you could convince him to test his mettle against a dragon. You, me, Blackwall and... Sera perhaps? A good enough dragon fighting team I think."

"Really?" Adaar asked, incredulous. "You want me to exclude Bull from a dragon fight in favour of Blackwall? And you're volunteering to go yourself?"

He looked up at her innocently, as if wide eyes might convince her that what he'd just said hadn't been the strangest thing she'd heard in weeks.

"Dorian, what's going on?"

"We're discussing the best way to deal with the dragon on the Storm Coast," he replied flippantly. "You said yourself, it needs doing or our mercenary allies on the coast will all be dragon food, it can't wait."

"It probably can, the Blades of Hessarian are reasonably confident, it's mostly been stealing livestock," she replied. "Though it has been several months since... y'know, if you're so concerned for them, I could ask Bull if he feels up to it."

"And he'd say yes even if he didn't," Dorian snapped, then took a deep breath, looking contrite. "Are you suggesting that Blackwall isn't up to the task?"

She ignored his raised eyebrows, refusing to be baited. "And why are you so eager to go? You hate the Storm Coast, the sea makes you nauseous, and you've never been eager to go dragon hunting before, has Bull rubbed off on you?"

That sent a hint of a flush to Dorian cheeks, in response to an innuendo she hadn't even intended to make, but she pressed the advantage presented to her anyway. "If it's like that then surely it would be more fun to do it at a couple. Do you know what he said to me after our first dragon fight, Taarsidath-an halsaam, it means-"

"Yes, yes! I know what it means." Dorian was definitely flustered now, leaning forward in his chair as if intending to reach upwards and clap a hand across her mouth. The change in angle meant that she could see the pages of the book open in his lap - a carefully annotated diagram of a dragon's mouth.

"It would certainly be an interesting romantic outing. You know dragons are very important to Qunari," she continued, following the scent she'd caught. "My parents told me a story once, about a couple who split a dragon's tooth and each carried a part with them so that they would be connected always."

There. Oh how far she'd come. A year ago she wouldn't have spotted anything amiss, but between Josephine's and Leliana's training and their dealings with the nobles of Orlais, Adaar had found herself noticing a great deal more about people that she'd ever realised they put on show.

"Has Bull told you that story?" she asked gently.

The look on Dorian's face said he knew he'd been caught. He wore his heart so plainly on his sleeve that she couldn't believe she'd ever bought into the enigmatic Tevinter magister front that he liked to put up.

"He mentioned it in passing," Dorian confessed. "There's very little of Qunari literature or folklore recorded, so I wanted to compare what he'd said with what records did exist. Apparently it's one of the few tales that has left Par Vollen relatively intact - presumably because foolish lovers looking to fight dragons would need to venture outside of their borders."

"And now you oh-so coincidentally want to fight a dragon yourself?"

Dorian scowled down at his book. "Don't go getting any funny ideas..." he grumbled.

"I'm not sure what else you're expecting me to do," Adaar admitted. "Although I would have thought that taking down the dragon together would be more appropriate. If you want to do it but the thought of bringing Bull to the Storm Coast bothers you so much I'm sure I can find you a different dragon. There's that one weird Orlesian guy out in the Western Approach who's trying to lure one. I let it go because he wanted me to do a load of work to help him and I don't really want to fight dragons which aren't disturbing anyone, but if it would help...?"

"No, n- urgh. Please, Inquisitor, you're getting ahead of yourself. I'm glad you enjoyed the romantic Qunari story, but don't go mistaking my interest in the concept as anything greater than what it is."

Adaar sighed. "You want to hunt a dragon to help you better understand the concept? Dorian, I didn't just fall out of fade rift yesterday, you can't expect me to believe..."

"Alright, so maybe not just the concept," Dorian confessed, voice dropping to a whisper although there was nobody around to overhear. "But for goodness sake you're talking like you think I'm about to do the Qunari version of offering a marriage proposal. I have no intention of giving it to Bull, I just feel- thought that it might be sensible to obtain one now while there's an opportunity presenting itself. Not for myself to give to Bull, but just because it might be useful for the Inquisition's stocks." He was talking faster now, clearly agitating and doing a poor job of lying to himself. "You might want one to offer to your own paramour, or perhaps Bull might want one for a future par- lover..."

Sometimes Adaar couldn't believe Dorian was older than she was, that he would even talk about the idea of Bull taking future lovers. Then again, he clearly didn't understand the tradition as well as she'd first assumed if he believed that Bull would accept a dragon's tooth won by Dorian and offer it to another. Still, she suspected that Dorian knew full well the idea of obtaining a Qunari love token 'just in case the Inquisition needed one' was absurd, and perhaps it was kinder to let him pretend that was a valid excuse for asking her for this.

"You know if Bull finds out we took out a dragon without him he's going to nosing about why he was left behind, at best."

"So you'll do it?" Dorian asked, too eager, and oh how she hoped he never went back to Tevinter, or to any other place where the powerful had less care for him than she did.

"I'll do it," she said.

*

"So... Boss..."

Adaar fought the urge to fidget under Bull's scrutiny. Of all of the members of the Inquisition, he was the one she struggled most with being an authority to. Too many years of working under Shokrakar had left her in the habit of deferring to the orders of a mercenary captain, and the fact that Bull was the only person in the Inquisition taller than she was didn't help matters.

"How do you feel about heading out to the Hinterlands in a few days?" she asked.

"Fine by me, boss. It's pretty calm around there these days but I'm sure you can find something for us to do. I wanted to ask you something actually?"

"Is there a problem?" Adaar asked carefully.

"I don't know. Is there?" Bull had her pinned under his intense stare. "You went dragon hunting without me Boss."

Adaar winced. She'd known this was a risk when she'd agreed to aid Dorian but that didn't mean she was happy with being confronted about it. "We needed to deal with the Templar hideout we'd discovered, once that was over it just made sense to go on and deal with dragon rather than needed to make another trip later."

Bull nodded. "Good thing you all just happened to be carrying gear enchanted with dragon slaying runes, isn't it."

Adaar cursed to herself. How could she still be underestimating Bull's Ben-Hassrath abilities? "I..."

Bull shook his head. "Your call Boss," he said. "But I gotta ask, this isn't about what happened last time we were out on the coast, is it?"

Adaar didn't wince. She was sure there was some small tell in her features that would reveal to Bull that she wanted to, but the least she could do was to make him work for it. She couldn't honestly deny that it had been a factor. Even if it had ultimately been Dorian's decision to leave Bull behind, she'd been considering the exact same thing.

"I needed Blackwall on this trip, we're still searching for lost Warden artefacts. Whatever is necessary to help restore them after what happened at Adamant. We needed him, and Sera for her lock picking skills..."

"And Dorian?" Bull asked, lightly. "You're a pretty decent mage, what need did you have to motivate him to agree to being dragged out to the coast, to deal with red Templars and a dragon? Cause that sounds like the exact opposite of anything he'd want."

Oh, if only Bull knew. Time to pull the Inquisitor card, as much as she hated doing it on her own people. Hopefully in time Bull would come to understand why she needed to.

"Bull, I picked the team I thought most appropriate for the tasks at hand," she declared, pouring every ounce of authority she'd picked up into the words, making it clear that she didn't want to be questioned further.

Bull was always a difficult man to read, but the shuttered look on his face as he nodded in concession to her unspoken order made her stomach twist. Dammit, Dorian had better be planning on giving him that Dragon's tooth and explaining their actions sooner rather than later.

*

When she finally caught up with Dorian he was in the undercroft. It was late to be working, but she'd gotten the impression that Dorian and Harritt didn't get along, so it wasn't all that surprising that he'd waited for the blacksmith to leave before getting to work.

Dagna was present and chattering enthusiastically. "It's a good thing you stripped the dragon for materials," she said, "There aren't many things that can even chip dragon's teeth, let along carve them in half, but scale tipped dragon bone should do the job."

"You're cutting the tooth right now?" Adaar asked.

Dorian shrugged. "What else is there to be done with it?"

'Stick to your original claim that you were just getting it for the sake of having it?' Adaar didn't say. "You could engrave it?"

Dorian shook his head. "I don't think Bull would want it engraved. It's importance is in what it is. Decorating it would only detract from that."

Adaar raised an eyebrow. She hadn't been planning on calling Dorian out, but if he was going to leave himself wide open... "Oh, so it is for Bull, not just the Inquisition's stores?"

Dorian flushed and scowled, looking like nothing so much as petulant child as he said, "It's my claim from the fight and for whatever I wish it to be for. Perhaps I could work a ritual on it instead of cutting it up at all."

She was reminded quite suddenly of a small child in the village where she'd been raised who would sooner smash his toys to pieces that share them or even admit he liked them and had to bite back a laugh. Dorian would likely resent being considered a spoiled child, and goodness knows his parents could hardly have been said to have given him his own way in all things, but sometimes his privileged upbringing rose to the surface regardless.

"Split it," she said, "And there's some unused dawnstone chain that you could string it on around here somewhere you can string it on."

Dagna nodded. "Oh yes. I think we got a little carried away with that actually, we almost have enough for a whole new set of mail."

Dorian hesitated. "Well, Bull does like dawnstone..."

Adaar nodded encouragingly.

"Very well," Dorian said. "I trust you can get this done discretely?" he asked Dagna.

"Of course," she said, "But if you want discrete it will have to wait until out of hours. Harritt says he doesn't like my work but he still always ends up looking. It might take a few weeks to get it cut and cleaned up so it's good to wear."

"There's no hurry," Dorian insisted, "As I mentioned to the Inquisitor, I've no intent on doing anything with it, I just thought that it would be advisable to obtain one while the opportunity presented itself."

Dagna didn't look any more convinced that Adaar was, but she declined to comment.

*

It had been two weeks since Dagna had informed them both that the dragon's tooth pendant was finished, and Adaar suspected that there wasn't a single person in Skyhold who was not aware of the fact that Dorian was avoiding Bull, and everyone else in the inner circle by extension.

For the first few days Dorian's excuses of important research, of being on the edge of a breakthrough, and then of exhaustion from the attention he'd put into that research had seemed plausible enough, but as the situation persisted it had become increasingly apparently that no such academic development was occurring. Instead Dorian was keeping strange hours, staying in the library until late hours of the night, and then vanishing into his room during the day and having his meals sent to his chambers.

The final straw came when Bull pulled her aside to ask if Dorian was avoiding him for the same reasons that she'd declined to bring him on Storm Coast dragon hunt. It was true of course, but she could hardly tell him so.

"Bull, my not taking you after that dragon has nothing to do with you being Tal-Vashoth. Honestly, what sort of hypocrite do you think I am?"

"I don't think you're a hypocrite Boss. You're Vashoth, you've had your whole life to learn how to keep control without the Qun. The reason Tal-Vashoth go mad it because only the Qun has been able to keep then in check before."

Adaar fought the urge to roll her eyes at this lecture. She didn't really believe much of it, but she knew that despite everything that happened Bull still saw value in elements of the Qun, and that if he was expression concern that others feared his Tal-Vashoth nature, then it wasn't the moment for a philosophical debate.

"It's got nothing to do you being Tal-Vashoth," Adaar repeated. "It's... well..."

"I can take a hint Boss," Bull said, with a weary sigh. "If he's done with me, he's done. Don't know why he doesn't just say so directly though, guess I'll have to be the one to..."

"NO!" Under other circumstances she'd have been embarrassed by the shrillness of her cry, but she'd worry about that later. "No. Don't be... Dorian isn't done with you, don't say something like that."

Bull gave a wry chuckle. "You're sweet Boss, but if he's done, he's done, there's no need to spare my feelings."

Adaar shook her head furiously, only just reigning herself in in time to avoid knocking her horns on a nearby sconce. "No. I mean it. I don't know exactly what's going through Dorian's head right now but... trust me, if you want him then just wait. If you tell him the pair of you are done he's going to think you're through with him and... urgh... why can't these things be simpler."

Bull looked hesitantly curious. "You know something about what's going on with Dorian that I don't?"

"I don't... I don't understand this vanishing act any more that you do," Adaar admitted, "But I know he's not done with you. Trust me."

Bull still looked doubtful, but nodded. "I don't want to make him uncomfortable," he said, "He's free to go, but I'm not going to send him away either. But Boss, he can't hide away forever."

Adaar nodded. "I know. He and I are going to have words."

*

"This has to stop."

Dorian startled, nearly knocking over his inkwell. "Inquisitor," he said, glancing at her and then across to the darkened windows. "You're typically an early riser, shouldn't you be tucked away in your chambers right now?"

She glared. "Yes. But since you insist upon keeping such an anti-social schedule, I am making an exception."

"Really? How pleasant for you."

Now she had him in her sights it was clear that Dorian wasn't well suited to the schedule he was keeping. His cosmetics couldn't hide the shadows beneath his eyes and his hair wasn't so immaculate in it's styling as Dorian preferred.

"Why?" she asked, and this time he made no pretence at wide-eyed innocence.

"The dragon's tooth..." he said, looking downcast. “I should never have gone after it."

Void but he looked miserable. She'd hoped to confront him and wrap this up quickly, but now she was having doubts. She dragged a stool over from next to nearby shelves and seated herself at Dorian's side.

"You wanted it for preparedness, that doesn't explain why you're hiding," she said.

Dorian shook his head. "I am just good enough at lying to myself to get into trouble, but not enough to ignore my mistakes once I've made them."

"You think it was a mistake?" she asked. "Dorian, you realise I've kept your secret. If you don't want to offer the tooth to Bull he never needs to know you considered it."

"Kaffas, but I was considering it," Dorian huffed, "Not for the future but for... foolishness, really."

Adaar nodded slowly. "You wanted to split the tooth with Bull... but now you don't?"

"I want to," Dorian corrected. "Which is the height of stupidity. What do either of us gain from such naive gestures? The rest of our lives aren't much to promise with Corypheus looming large, and even then there's no reason for Bull to want..." Dorian shook his head and cursed again. "No, giving the thing would do more harm than good."

"The only influence Corypheus is going to have on our lives is an excuse to party when he dies," Adaar pointed out. "And none of this explains why you're hiding."

Dorian turned away from her. "You remember the fade..."

"I could hardly forget, what of it?"

"Do you remember those gravestones?" Dorian asked. "Do you remember mine?"

Temptation.

"I remember, Dorian."

Dorian's voice cracked a little as he said, "Then you should understand why having the tooth and being around Bull, knowing I shouldn't offer it to him, is a problem for me."

"Dorian." She reached out, grasping his shoulder and turning him back to face her. "Dorian, not all wanting is temptation. It's not dangerous to want to be happy."

"That depends greatly on the lengths one is willing to go to obtain that happiness," Dorian snapped, and Adaar knew that they were both thinking of his father.

"Asking someone for something isn't the same as forcing it upon them. Honestly, what's the worst that could happen?" she implored.

"He could say no," Dorian pointed out, voice small and a little ashamed.

"He could," Adaar acknowledged. "He could turn down the most handsome mage in the Inquisition, who slew a dragon for the dream of a future with him. But Dorian... you should ask."

Dorian looked doubtful, looked lost, but she couldn't force it. They needed to do at least some of this on their own. "At least speak with him Dorian. Hide the necklace if you need to, but don't let it end like this. You're braver than that."

Dorian bit his lip but nodded.

*

Adaar slept late the morning after her talk with Dorian, and the day after that she saw neither the mage nor Bull, but the morning after that Dorian turned up to breakfast for the first time in weeks. There was a bulge creasing the chest of his robes that mirrored the split dragon's tooth pendant which hung from Bull's neck.

Adaar nodded to them both from across the table. Hopefully she wouldn't need to involve herself in their romance any further now they'd finally made it this far. She glanced down the table at which her inner circle dined. Now perhaps she'd finally have some time to sort her own personal life out. And she knew who she wouldn't be going to for advice.

 


	9. Follow up to the perceived unrequited in chapter 2

He thinks it’s a consequence of being Tal-Vashoth. It used to be easy to stay in the role he’d given himself. The Iron Bull was a mercenary, a fighter, but also someone that people could like, could go to for release and relaxation. And if Bull happened to get his own enjoyment out of playing the Tamassran, well, all the better.

Lately though, his control has been slipping. There’s still pleasure to be found in giving people what they want, but Bull finds himself wanting certain things beyond what’s offered, and while he’d never take was wasn’t freely given even having the thoughts is discomforting.

The last few serving girls and stable hands to come to him, Bull had pointed in the direction of Stitches, of Dalish, of soldiers he knew from experience were up for giving out a good time. It’s not good to half-ass things, it doesn’t feel right to bring someone to his bed and not give them his full attention, and right now he knows that whoever he had, whatever he did, there’s be a part of his mind wondering what Dorian would do in the same situation.

It wasn’t fair to anyone.

Bull couldn’t say when it had started, when he’d begun to think about holding Dorian because he wanted to do so, rather than simply because Dorian seemed to type to enjoy it. But then again, half the reason he wanted to hold Dorian was the way that Dorian would shudder and slacken, easy in his arms, so perhaps things hadn’t changed as much as he’d thought.

It was easier under the Qun. Not as much room for fun imagination, but also far fewer chances of his thoughts wandering in strange directions.

The last thing Dorian needed was pressure. He liked to be held down, sure, but only with the surety that he could free and away with just one word, never trapped.

It had to be madness, wanting to take and to keep, to build something between them beyond an exchange of pleasure.

Better to accept things for what they were, to enjoy Dorian naked and pliant in his bed, than to entangle himself in an ungrateful longing for some nebulous more.

Focus.

“What do you want, Dorian?” he growls, wondering what he’ll hear this time. His fingers? His mouth? His cock? Something else entirely, their trysts having introduced Dorian to whole worlds of things his conservative upbringing had sheltered him from, despite all of Tevinter’s claims to debauchery.

“You,” Dorian gasps, and for a moment Bull waits for the rest, to hear the details of what Dorian needs from him, but not more words come.

“Dorian,” he repeats, his hands skimming up Dorian’s spread thighs, and he hopes he doesn’t sound as tentative as he feels - the last thing Dorian requires is Bull’s own urges instilling in him some sort of unwanted obligation. “Dorian, what do you need?”

“Want me,” Dorian moans, as if Bull could do anything else. “Please, I need you.”

And shit, it would be stupid to take too much meaning from things said during sex, but Bull can’t help the way his grip on Dorian’s legs tightens at the thought of Dorian wanting him, wholly and unreservedly, not just the exchange of favours they have going on right now.

“Yours,” he murmurs, quiet enough that Dorian shouldn’t be able to hear, but Dorian, stiffens beneath him, eyes sharpening and snapping to Bull’s face, any lust addled haze gone in a flash.

Bull is pulling back even as he processes his error, the last thing he wants is Dorian to feel trapped by his body as well as his words, and so it takes him a moment to realise that the words falling from Dorian’s mouth are apologies.

“…I would never demand such a thing, you’re entirely at liberty to do as you please.” And, okay, perhaps it’s not Bull’s feelings that are freaking Dorian out so much as the reminder of Tevinter, of living in a society where people really could be his - in the worst sense of the word.

Dorian is still talking. “A moment of weakness and I shall endeavour to do, to be better. I love you and-”

The world stops.

Perhaps Dorian had a better grip of that time magic stuff than he thought, because the few heartbeats they spend staring at each other, Dorian looking as shocked by himself as Bull feels, seem to last an eternity.

There’s love under the Qun, love for your friends, for your roles, for the Qun itself, but nothing even close to what has just slipped from Dorian’s lips.

None of those sorts of love could ever cause the fear that written clear across Dorian’s face right now.

Above all else, Bull has wanted Dorian never to be scared with him.

“I should…” Dorian rolls off of the bed and it’s astounding how fast he can dress himself when he sets his mind to it. There’s no primping of hair or fussing over creases here, Dorian has retrieved his leggings and got them pulled up to his knees with his right hand and is reaching for his shirt with his left before Bull can find the words he needs.

“Dorian, it’s alright,” Bull shakes his head. Not good enough. With someone like Dorian he’s going to need to spell it out. “Dorian, if you’re offering, I want it.”

It’s enough to make Dorian pause, to turn his attention from his shirt to Bull. “Pardon?”

“I want you Dorian,” Bull says, pulling Dorian back, a gentle tug to test the waters, but he comes easy so Bull can fold Dorian close into his chest. “All of you. Stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 kudos! Thanks everybody ily!


	10. Final thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: dorian dies and iron bull is back at skyhold or something or is away (basically he's not there when it happens) and cole starts telling him dorian's last thoughts?
> 
> **Warning: Character death**

“The Iron Bull. The Iron Bull!”

“Woah, what’s up?” Bull asks, reaching tentatively out for Cole’s shaking shoulders. He’s never seen the kid agitated and out of breath like this before, and while he’s got one eye on his sword in case Cole decides to go all demon-y, Bull’s hoping that he can calm him before it gets to that point.

“Hey, kid - just breathe…”

Cole shakes his head violently, his hat falling askew. “No. No, no, no, The Iron Bull. No more breathing, just hands and hurt, tighter and tighter, not a game, no words…”

Shit. Cole’s shown a knack for knowing when someone is in trouble before. “Alright, kid. What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. There’s no helping now. He wants you, but he’s glad you don’t have to see. So sorry, Amatus…”

The last word is like blast of ice to his heart, and Bull rises from his seat without realising it. “Dorian. Cole, is Dorian in danger?”

Cole half nods and then gasps, falling to the floor. “No!”

“Cole?” Bull asks, dropping to the ground and ignoring the pain in his knee as he grips the boy tightly. “Cole! What’s happened?”

Cole just shudders, murmuring too low for Bull to decipher.

“Cole!” Bull snaps, demanding an answer. “Dorian. I need to know-” he needs to know that the meaning he’s pulled from Cole’s behaviour is the wrong one, that Dorian will come riding through the gates, haughty but ever so slightly ruffled, same as he always does after heading out with the Inquisitor.

Cole unfurls a little, reaching out to Bull. “Oh. The Iron Bull… it didn’t help.” He reaches out, pale fingers brushing against Bull’s horns and down to the bridge of his nose and Bull blinks and wonders why the fuck they’re sitting on the floor, and why his heart is racing like he’s just dodged an ambush.

“Uh… Cole?” he begins, seeking an explanation, but the boy just straightens, looking ever more pale and eerie than usual.

“There’s too much hurt,” Cole says, although Bull isn’t sure it’s in response to his words. “How can I heal when even I hurt?”

“You alright, kid?” Bull asks, reaching tentatively out for Cole’s shaking shoulders. He’s never seen the kid agitated and out of breath like this before, but Cole vanishes before Bull can touch him, leaving Bull sitting alone on the floor and feeling strangely unsettled.

It’s not until the Inquisitor’s party returns one man smaller than when they left that he understands.


	11. Bull saves a party with super amazing rice pudding and Dorian publicly praises him.

Bull was adequate at campfire cooking. Still, Dorian had expected Josephine to set slightly higher standards for her feast in order to mark the passing of a year since Corypheus' end.

"Rice is a... unusual choice for a dessert." Dorian looked down at the bowl front of him in distaste. He'd been unsure as to why somebody of Josephine's experience felt the need to throw a trial run, but if it meant he had the opportunity to shut down this disaster in the making, then perhaps it was for the best. "You've somewhat overcooked this, you realise?" he said. "It's supposed to be individual grains not liquefied."

Bull stared at him. "Wait? You've never had rice pudding before?"

"Rice pudding? You mean to say you've given this odd invention of yours a name?"

Bull shook his head. "No, it's a pretty common dish, right?"

He glanced around the table, receiving nods of confirmation from everyone except Krem who said, "I'd never heard of it either before heading south, Chief."

Bull huffed. "Vints - no wonder so many of you turn out messed up."

"Try it," Krem said to Dorian, who still looked doubtful. "Unless you don't think your delicate Altus constitution can take it."

Dorian lifted up his spoon, scooping up a generous spoonful, rather than just enough to taste. It was strange, Dorian never seemed bothered when Blackwall or Sera mocked his posh habits, but the moment Krem started Dorian felt the immediate urge to prove him wrong. Entertaining though.

Dorian lifted the spoon to his lips, tongue darting out to test the taste, a movement so familiar that Bull knew a smirk would be visible on his face to anyone who looked.

Then, finally, Dorian put the spoon in his mouth.

His brow furrowed as he pulled the spoon slowly back from between his lips. He swallowed, lifting another spoonful from the bowl, eating it less hesitantly this time.

After a moment, he asked "Is there cinnamon in this?"

"It's a secret recipe." Bull laughed.

Dorian pouted, eating a little more. "Cinnamon and... ginger... is that cloves I can taste?"

"Aw, come on!" Bull complained. "What part of secret don't you get?"

Dorian rolled his eyes. "How on earth did you obtain all these spices? They must have cost a fortune to ship here."

Bull shrugged. "Our ambassador already had them in. Apparently she'd hired some fancy Orlesian chef who did 'northern style' cuisine, but he pulled out at the last minute, so she decided to go for the real thing instead."

Dorian hummed. "It's not bad," he offered tentatively, Bull reached out to take the bowl from him and Dorian curled a protective arm around it, leaning away. "I think I'll have to eat some more to form a proper opinion," he said. "And to figure out your 'secret' recipe."

"Sure thing, Kadan," said Bull. "You'll never guess it though."

Dorian smirked. "We'll see."

*

It seemed that no amount of success, as a mercenary or with the Inquisition, would win Bull the respect of Orlesian nobility. Oh, they were happy to hire him or to enjoy the exoticism of bedding him, but they'd titter behind their hands at the oxman while they did it. It was nothing he hadn't already known, but it had been different when he could tell himself that 'The Iron Bull' was a persona of Hissrad's, that they knew nothing of him and that he could find peace with the Qun. Not that he still didn't fall back on it's words from time to time, reciting to himself 'Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra,' the last phrase left behind on the coast.

For now though, he would have to fall back on the same techniques he'd used when the boss had brought him to the winter palace and drown the annoying Orlesians out by focusing on the snacks. Here he found himself hampered by the fact he'd prepared a large percentage everything himself, and therefore there was nothing unfamiliar or intriguing to try.

Dorian was flitting among the crowds, greeting everyone but never lingering. It hadn't escaped Bull's notice that in his hand was clasped a bowl of rice pudding. And he'd yet to confront Bull with his guess at the recipe.

As much as he enjoyed watching Dorian charm and confound the Orlesian elite, Bull was also a little curious to know how his food was being received. There's been no noisy demands for an alternate meal or upturned tables, always a good sign since from his time working as hired security in Orlais, such behaviour was considered a perfectly reasonable method of making one's dissatisfaction known to one's host. More tellingly, however, when he reached the buffet, the serving dishes for the rice pudding were scraped clean, down to the last.

"I can't imagine where Lady Montilyet found such a marvellous cook," one of the nobles by the table gushed.

"Indeed," her companion said, "But we must find out. It's quite clear that northern cuisine is going to be de jour for the rest of the season, do you think that Tevinter knows? It was he who was first encouraging people to sample the dish."

"What's this about Dorian?" Bull interjected.

Both ladies startled, one of them sloshing her wine over the rim of her glass.

"Oh my!" she cried, fanning herself rapidly. Bull took a step back, having not expected them to be quite so startled given how visible he was."

"I- I find I know no such person of that name," the chattier one said.

"The Tevinter," Bull explained. "His name is Dorian. What's he been encouraging?"

The chatty one shot Bull an appraising look before replying, "He's been recommending cuisine," she huffed, "Although I'm not sure it would be to the taste of an ox-m... qunari."

Bull shrugged, choosing to overlook the slip. "You'd be surprised. There are a lot of tastes Dorian has which suit me just fine."

It was hard to gauge facial expressions through masks, but Bull was pretty sure that the chatty one had missed his meaning, while her more fragile but perceptive friend was on the verge of swooning from the scandal of it all.

The chatty one seemed dubious as she said, "Well it's no use now anyway. He's been recommending the... euh... rice dessert as the grandest dish in all of Thedas, which shows his excellent taste, but it's all gone now."

Bull nodded, grinning and not caring if the woman thought him stupid because of it. He scanned the room, seeking out where Dorian had slipped away to the edge of the crowd of delegates.

It only took him a few seconds to catch Dorian's eye, and once he had he mouthed as clearly as he could, "How about that rice pudding?" just to let Dorian know he'd been caught out.

Dorian flushed and Bull knew he'd be huffing, but instead of rolling his eyes or turning away, Dorian simple help up his spoon, loaded with the pudding, slipping it into this mouth slowly, tongue flicking out to catch a speck that had stuck to his lip, savouring the mouthful for several long seconds before swallowing. From the looks on the faces of the people around Dorian, Bull was guessing he'd moaned too.

Bull just smirked. Dorian could make as much of a show of things as he liked - later Bull would make sure Dorian demonstrated exactly how much he'd enjoyed the pudding.

 


	12. Chef AU

Dorian had known that his qualifications might not earn him the same respect in the south as they had back home, but he hadn't expected them to actively disadvantage him.

He'd been searching for work for two months now to no avail, his standards dropping lower and lower as his funds grew tight. Back home people had fought to get him into their kitchens - he couldn't count the number of times people had approached him with offers intended to lure him away from Gereon, even after his scandalous reputation had begun to surface.

In the end it had grown too much though, and Tevinter had stopped feeling like a good option.

He still couldn't believe that his father had stooped to drugging his food. Dorian's disgrace might have been embarrassing, but if it had gotten out that his father had done such an act his professional credibility would be ruined. Nobody wanted a chef who might be tempted towards poison. But it wouldn't get out, because for Dorian to spread such things around, he'd have needed to stay in Tevinter, and as long as he was in reach of his father he wasn't safe.

Still, it was strange. In Tevinter, Dorian's qualifications had made him sought after, but his personal life was a source of disgust; in the south, nobody seemed to give a damn about anyone's preferences, but Dorian's training provoked raised eyebrows and declarations that he was 'not quite the right fit for us' in every kitchen he'd applied at.

He'd known southern cuisine ran towards the bland, and that he'd be well served picking up some local dishes when he had the time, but he hadn't expected the horror with which southerners treated anything spicier than unseasoned mash potato.

It seemed that a chef trained in the finest kitchens of Qarinus, Vyrantium and Minrathous, son of the famed Halward Pavus and former sous-chef to Gereon Alexius, simply wasn't what the south wanted. No, down here phrases like 'home cooking' and 'family style' were thrown around in restaurants as something admirable, and Dorian's prestige meant nothing. His moustache also seemed to draw a lot of tutting.

At first it had been easy to tell himself that he didn't want to work in a kitchen that boiled everything which came though it and considered basil to be the height of spiciness, but with a few months under his belt and a better understanding of the southern market, he'd settle for pretty much anything.

Which was why when he saw the dingy looking hole in the wall place with a handwritten 'cook wanted' sign taped up on the door he'd headed inside, more out of curiosity than any real belief that this was the opportunity he'd been looking for.

He stepped inside, a cowbell above the door clanging obnoxiously to signal his entrance.

It was bigger than he'd expected, the room stretching away from the door, and while there were only a handful of occupied tables at the time, Dorian had been in the industry to feel confident in guessing that if the place could afford to keep itself open during the mid-afternoon lull, then they probably did decent business.

"You gonna order? Menus are over there,” the young man behind the counter had a Tevene complexion and gestured lazily towards a stack of folded cards in a manner which suggested that unlike most people in service industry, he had exactly zero interest in impressing Dorian or keeping him happy enough to tip.

Dorian blinked. "I, uh..." Oh, what the hell. "Actually I noticed the sign on your door. You're recruiting?"

"What?" The young man frowned. "Oh, right, that sign. Huh. And here I told the chief he needed to a newspaper or the internet if he wanted to find anyone decent... although..." he shot Dorian a skeptical look, as if he was having doubts that he wasn't right about the decent part.

"There weren't any details on the sign," Dorian persisted. "I was hoping for a little more information."

"Pfft... I dunno. It only went up yesterday. Chief is getting tired of handling the kitchen on his own, wants to be able to take a breather every now and again without making the place grind to a halt. Why, you interested?”

Chief? Or was that a strange mangling of chef that came from having a Tevinter-turned-Southern accent?

"I..." truthfully Dorian wasn't in a position to be picky and therefore was interested in any job going, but looking desperate never helped anyone. “I was curious. And I smelled turmeric... not something used much in the south."

The man looked Dorian up and down appraisingly and then huffed.

"CHIEF," he hollered. "MIGHT WANNA COME UP HERE."

Dorian glanced over at the clients, who seemed utterly unperturbed by this display.

After a moment's wait, a door behind the counter swung open and out stepped the tallest qunari Dorian had ever seen, a chef's hat perched precariously between his horns.

"Krem, you've found another vint! Good for you."

"Actually this one's for you. Says he saw the notice on the door and smelled the turmeric and wants to know more about the job."

"You smelled the turmeric specifically?" the qunari asked Dorian.

"I have a very good nose," Dorian retorted, and then fought the urge to wince at how defensively it came out.

The qunari eyed him for a moment and then said, "That you do, nice moustache too. I'm Iron Bull." He held out a hand to shake, two of the fingers were missing.

"Dorian..." he said, hesitating before adding, "Pavus." Most people down south hadn't heard of his father, but a fellow Tevinter and a qunari might, and might not be as impressed as people up north by Dorian's family name. He shook Iron Bull’s hand anyway.

The missing fingers were an ominous sign on a chef, the eye-patch even more so. Dorian hoped that what Krem had said about wanting someone to allow their existing cook to take a break with meant that he wouldn't be sharing a kitchen with this man. Things got sharp and hot in professional kitchens and Dorian wasn't yet desperate enough to want a workplace where he'd be dodging injury every five minutes.

"So you know your spices," Iron Bull said. "You got any experience in a professional kitchen?"

Dorian was torn. On one hand the question suggested that Iron Bull didn't know of Dorian's family, since such information would make the answer obvious, but on the other hand Dorian wasn't sure what to make of the implication that someone without professional experience would be considered.

"Yes," he settled on, "Although all of my training and experience was in Tevinter. I'm not familiar with southern styles."

Iron Bull nodded. "You won't need much of that here, be useful to learn though. You know how to  _cook_  with spice?" Iron Bull asked, “Real spice?” and Dorian scoffed.

"Of course."

Iron Bull grinned. "How about this - you get back here and make something to impress my boys in the next twenty minutes and the job's yours?"

"And if I don't?" Dorian asked, responding to the challenge instinctively. The answer should have been obvious, unimpressive cooking equalled no job, but the words slipped out anyway and the Iron Bull smirked.

"If you don't, then you let me cook you up something from straight out of a Par Vollen cookbook, and I'll show you the meaning of hot 'n' spicy." His eye squeezed shut and it took Dorian a moment to realise that the man was trying to wink at him. Did he really think that Dorian couldn't handle the heat, after years of working in Tevinter kitchens?

Suddenly it didn't matter that Dorian knew almost nothing of the restaurant, of its staff or menu or clientele, all things he'd normally have studied before considering a job, nor even what sort of pay check he could expect. His pride was on the line.

"Well it looks like you just found your new chef," Dorian declared, "Show me where I'll be working."

Iron Bull grinned, beckoning Dorian behind the counter.

"Confident... I like it."


	13. "Just forget about me!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the rating bump - there's nothing too NSFW here but there's some discussion of sex and kink so better safe than sorry. I'd say it falls into the category of 'would be acceptable to read in public, but probably not to your grandparents'.

“I want to try something out,” Bull said.

For a moment Dorian looked startled, then he smiled, not the wicked smirk that went straight to Bull’s dick, but a bright grin that had Bull’s heart flipping and stuttering.

“Of course, Amatus,” Dorian said. “Whatever you like.”

“It’s gonna be a challenge for you,” Bull teased, “Are you sure you can take it? It’s pretty big… might hurt you if you can’t handle it.”

Dorian gave a little snort. “That’s not important.”

Bull stopped short, turning back towards Dorian, who had shucked the last of his robes and was settled on the bed, still looking perfectly happy and at ease, despite what he’d just said. “Of course it’s important.” Bull had known Tevinter could fuck people up, but he hadn’t expected that sort of answer from Dorian of all people, not when he usually seemed so capable of demanding what he wanted.

“Nonsense,” Dorian said, and then, “If you want it, I can take it.”

Bull hesitated. He was pretty sure that Dorian would be able to handle the toy, wouldn’t have suggested it if he thought there was any real risk of doing Dorian harm with it, but that wasn’t the point. He wouldn’t have Dorian thinking that Bull actually wanted him doing anything he wasn’t comfortable with.

“Nah, on second thoughts you’re not quite there yet,” Bull said carefully, “I’ve got something you will like though,”

"Just forget about me!" Dorian snapped. "Just please, for one moment..."

Bull shook his head, startled by Dorian’s outburst. "I don't want to,” he said, wondering what the hell had happened to get Dorian talking like this. “What I want is for you to get what you need, it's that simple Dorian."

Dorian glowered. "What I need right now is to give you what you want. And I know you want me to be happy, but what about what you want for just for yourself - the selfish wants that people have."

Bull shrugged. The pursuit of selfish wants was pretty strongly discouraged under the Qun, and becoming Tal-Vashoth hadn’t inspired a sudden flurry of desires in him. He had good work, good food and drink, his boys were safe and Dorian was in his bed – what more did a guy need?

“I’m all good, big guy,” Bull settled on eventually. “I’ve been saying that all along.”

Dorian dragged a hand though his hair, a sign that he was truly at his breaking point since under normal circumstances he went to great lengths to avoid mussing it. "Urgh. So you want me to have what I want-"

"Need," Bull corrected.

Dorian huffed. "Fine! What you want is for me to have what I need and what I need right now is to know what else you want-"

"I told you Dorian, giving you what you need is what I want, is that so hard to understand?" Bull implored, reaching out to lay a hand on Dorian’s shoulder in the hope of soothing him. "Stop over-complicating it."

Dorian looked up at him, and Bull was startled by the look on his face. Not the frustration he’d anticipated, but something a little lost, and close to desperation.

"I can't," Dorian confessed, then shook his head. "No… I don't want to. You do so much for me, there has to be something I can do for you."

"This isn't a trade," Bull said, stomach twisting at the thought. There was nothing wrong with that sort of thing when it was done by professionals, but when people made it a normal part of their lives it rarely ended well. Freely given, that was the way to go. "You're not supposed to be keeping score. You don’t owe me anything-"

"I know that!" Dorian insisted. "I've had affairs that are like business, ‘let me fuck you and I’ll get you off after’ and all that rubbish, and this isn't like that. I don't want to do something for you because I owe you, and just want to do something good for you. You’ve never said you wanted something specific before, let me give it to you."

Bull frowned, at a loss for how else he could explain himself to Dorian. "But you are good for me. Hell, the other week with the crop and the feathers… it was your idea but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t great. Fuck, I’m not sure what I can think of that would top that.”

“But I asked you for that…” Dorian said uncertainly. “That was something you did for me not-”

“And for me,” Bull explained, gently pulling Dorian closer. “Dorian, don’t you remember our first negotiation. Nothing goes on here that isn’t good for both of us.”

"You won’t let me give you what you want?" Dorian persisted.

"Too late," Bull replied, lifting his arm so that Dorian could slide over and curl up against his side. "I've already got everything I want right here, Kadan."


	14. Dorian and Bull worrying together over an injured companion.

As soon as he saw what had happened, Bull knew they were in trouble.

Sera was a tough little thing, but she was little, and if they pulled out the pike which currently had her pinned to the ice, she'd bleed out in a matter of minutes unless she had more help than they were equipped to give.

Or the ice would shatter, and she'd freeze or drown, along with anyone who assisted her.

Bull was stood on the far bank of the river. The ice was chipped and cracked in more places that just around Sera and putting any more weight on it that needed was probably dangerous.

Ice was one of the things that Bull hated about the south. He could handle the cold, but on Seheron the only time you encountered ice was when you were dealing with mages, and it was only ever a flash of cold in the tropical heat, there was none of this sheet ice to slip on and no frozen over rivers you didn't realise you were standing on until the ice started to crack.

Ice could kill you just as easily as fire, but without the smoke to warn you.

He didn't begrudge Dorian going out onto the ice after Sera, somebody needed to see to her injuries, and while Dorian was no healer by necessity he'd developed a degree of competence at patching wounds the old-fashioned way. Dorian standing on cracked ice in enemy territory was something like a nightmare, but it was a nightmare that Bull could endure for Sera's sake.

Sera, who despite her injuries, was quite clearly arguing with Dorian, arms gesturing wildly. Despite the distance Bull quite clearly heard her yell, "That's shite. Bloody gobshite!"

Whatever he'd said to annoy her so much prompted Dorian to straighten and walk carefully back across the river, grim faced.

"We'll never get her back to camp. You need to bring a healer here.

Bull glanced over at Adaar, who was looking frustrated. "To camp and back? That'll take at least an hour... will the ice hold out that long?" she asked.

Dorian shrugged. "Frost magic was never an area of study I was much inclined to pursue, you'd be a better judge of if than I."

Adaar shook her head, braid swinging behind her. "I just don't know. I could try a bolster it, but there's too many templars around, I don't want to send Bull back to camp without backup."

Bull nodded. For all is skill, it would only take one stray templar getting lucky to down him, and then Sera would be waiting for help that wasn't coming. Always better to have an insurance policy.

"You're not that much bigger than Dorian," Bull suggested. "If you're magicking the ice sturdy you might be able to get to Sera and Dorian and I could get to camp."

Dorian frowned at the suggestion but didn't argue.

Adaar nodded. "That's not a bad idea. And if the ice does break, I've got more practice dealing with the cold than either of you. There was this time with the Valo-kas and... well, anyway. I stay with Sera and you and Dorian fetch help?"

As she often did in times of stress, Adaar had slipped back into the habit of deferring to Bull, a consequence of her being used to taking orders from a mercenary commander and a pattern she was trying to break.

They waited while Adaar edged her way over to Sera, Dorian gripping his staff tightly, but after three long minutes Adaar raised her hand in a signal to go.

Bull set off at his fastest walking pace, Dorian settling into a light jog to keep up with him.

 

*

 

They'd passed directions onto the healer and the scouts at camp, but had received a polite but firm suggestion to wait at camp while the rescue was carried out. It chafed, but Bull knew from experience that bringing in people who were as tired and as emotionally involved as themselves was a simple recipe for something getting fucked up, even the most professional of guys made mistakes when they were tired and stressed.

Dorian was pacing.

Bull didn't blame him, understood his frustrations completely, but at the same time the lines of tension in Dorian's body were doing nothing to soothe Bull's own frayed nerves.

"Come back to the tent Kadan."

Dorian bristled, whirling on Bull. "This is hardly the time for-" he started, but trailed off when Bull met his gaze.

Under other circumstances Bull would have laughed. "Not for that. But you should rest. If they do need any help when they get back," when, not if, "they won't want you worn out from pacing.

Dorian nodded, coming to a halt, but made no move towards the tent.

"What if the scouts got lost?" he said twisting his fingers in front of him, the nervous energy redirected from his legs to his hands. "Frost is hardly my area but I..."

"They're competent people and we gave them good directions. The more people involved in an op the more chances for something to go wrong, you know that," Bull said, walking over to where Dorian stood and wrapping his arms around him.

Dorian shuddered and pressed closer. "She told me to leave her," he muttered. "As soon as I got to her Sera told me to back off the ice and I said no, I was going to help her and then I left."

"You helped her by leaving," Bull insisted. "Getting help was the best thing that could be done."

Dorian pressed his face into Bull's chest, and Bull gripped him tightly.

The reassurances he offered Dorian would be so much more convincing to both of them once Sera and Adaar were back in camp.

And they would come back to camp. Anything else was unthinkable.


	15. Good morning. I love you.

Bull woke to a warm weight on his chest and smiled. Once again, at some point during the night Dorian’s need to be in the warmest spot in any given room had manifested as him attempting to occupy the exact same space as Bull. He look down at the mass of tousled dark hair that was all he could see of Dorian and said, “Good morning.”

He could feel Dorian let out a huff of breath against his chest, as Dorian grumbled something incoherent. The first few times this had happened Dorian has scrambled away upon awakening and attempted to deny any such behaviour, but over the past months he’d grown more at ease, and now only ever complained when he was forced to move so that Bull could leave the bed.

Unfortunately, Bull has an early morning training session with the Inquisitor, who wanted him to oversee the work she was doing with Breaker Thram.

“Sorry, Kadan,” he said. “I need to get up.”

He could feel the jut of Dorian’s nose and chin bush against him, and a light tickle of his moustache as the mage tilted his head to look up at Bull from under sleep-heavy eyelids.

“Stay,” Dorian murmured in a husky voice. “I love you.”

Bull laughed, and then laughed harder at the petulant look which overtook Dorian’s features as he was jostled by Bull’s shaking chest, Dorian’s lips forming a pout beneath his fluffy and styled moustache. “You love warmth,” Bull corrected. “I’m onto you big guy. You only come to me because you’re can’t maintain a heating spell while you’re sleeping.”

Dorian scowled ineffectually as Bull rolled him onto the mattress, and then bundled the blankets around himself. “If I wanted warm, I could go to Blackwall,” he grumbled. “All that hair, it would be just like having a fur pelt.”

Bull cracked the thin layer of ice on the surface of the basin, dampening a wash-cloth and giving himself a quick all over wipe. “If its fur you want, I’ll ask the Inquisitor to take me next time she goes out hunting bears. Pretty sure the Seeker would be happy to switch.”

“Do as you please,” Dorian declared, burrowing into the tangle of blankets. “I’m going back to sleep, on account of being the only one here with any sense.”

“Sure thing,” Bull said as he departed. With any luck the Inquisitor wouldn’t need him for more than an hour or so, and he could come back and re-join Dorian in bed before the mage finally surfaced for real and vanished off into the confines of the library for the day.


	16. More Chef AU

Six months of working with the Iron Bull still hadn't quite got Dorian used to the manner in which his restaurant was run. His wait staff seemed to come and go as they pleased, and never hesitated to backtalk Bull or the customers. Krem had laughed so hard he'd almost fallen off of his chair the one time Dorian had made the error of referring to him as the maître d' aloud, and the closest they had to a sommelier was a young woman known only as Dalish, who was something of an expert in craft beer.

It was nothing like anything Dorian had experienced before, and it was brilliant.

Bull never hovered over Dorian's shoulder as Alexius has, question his choices and adding ingredients to Dorian's dishes when his back was turned under the guise of being helpful. He laughed at the attention Dorian payed to plating but never criticised except for once during Dorian's very first week when he'd scolded Dorian to not be 'so stingy with the portions'. The pay was good, and there was something gratifying about knowing that Bull ensured all of his staff were well compensated for their work, unlike in Tevinter where Dorian had seen fistfights break out among wait-staff over tips, so meagre were their wages.

The company was better than expected.

Dorian had got the job by winning their initial wager, but it hadn't been long before Bull was encouraging Dorian to stay after the place closed and join the other staff members in 'helping' to finish off whatever leftovers couldn't be stored or donated. The others had been unsurprisingly leery of him at first, although no more than Dorian would have anticipated as an interloper at a Tevinter establishment, but they'd warmed faster than he'd have expected, their fits of laughter amicable instead of mocking when Dorian once again found his eyes watering after a mouthful of Bull's saar-mashev, deceptively bland upon the first taste but with a near lethal aftertaste which was somehow addictive. In turn Dorian had called upon memories of his boyhood and after a few botched attempts Krem had deemed Dorian's flatbread a passable imitation of the sort of thing one could purchase from a Minrathous street vendor and his chilli-cocoa the only decent thing an Altus ever produced.

Still, it wasn't enough. What Dorian wanted, he'd been surprised to realise, was to really impress Bull. It was a strange notion. Over his lifetime, Dorian had wanted to impress his father, and then his tutors and then, as he grew older, his lovers, until finally after years of limited returns he'd given up on giving a damn. His efforts had been admirable enough to win him his employment, but Dorian had watched Bull eat and he knew from years of observing critics that while Bull had clearly enjoyed the dish Dorian had prepared, and all of Dorian's subsequent dishes, Dorian had yet to achieve anything which had Bull coming back for more.

He'd taken to spending his free time scouring the markets for inspiration.  It was a whole new sort of challenge, trying to come up with something which suited Bull's rustic tastes and yet was still impressive. Somehow Bull's staff had cottoned on to Dorian's experiments, as well as his begrudging ventures into flavoursome northern reinterpretations of traditional Fereldan cuisine, and had Dorian declared indefinitely responsible for their nightly specials. From snatches of overheard conversation, he suspected that there was some kind of betting pool being run on how long Dorian could go without repeating a dish or cooking something so strange as to be inedible - Dorian satisfied himself with the knowledge that no-one would be profiting from that any time soon, even if he had to teach himself strange Anderfels inspired cooking to spite them.

He hadn't realised how tedious his typical repertoire had become, until he'd taken up this new challenge. There was a thrill in combining new flavours and textures, in blending ideas, and even in the substitutions and creative edits he had to employ in order to prepare recipes based on Tevinter haute-cuisine in Fereldan sized portions, using appropriately sourced ingredients and within the confines of the tight budget imposed by Bull's strict code of serving good, ethically sourced food at affordable prices.

Tonight he was pushing the limits of that budget, attempting a variant on a dish he'd only ever prepared for himself before. It required spices which were unpopular in the south, but ignored at lot of the rules of proper Tevene cooking, and so he'd never encountered anyone it seemed suitable to offer it to before, but Bull liked different which made him the best recipient Dorian was likely to get for his personal masterpiece.

It was nearly finished now, it just needed to simmer for a while to evaporate off some of the liquid and strengthen the flavour, and he lifted out a spoonful for a taste test, but paused at Bull's approach.

"This tonight's special, may I?" Bull asked, and Dorian nodded, lifting the spoon in Bull's direction so the man could swipe a fingertip through the sauce. Taste testing with fingers was hardly professional, but it was a sin Dorian had been guilty of many a time in his youth.

Bull licked the sauce off his finger and then paused, brow furrowing. That was new. Up till now Bull had always reacted genially to Dorian's dishes, not ponderously. What the change meant Dorian couldn't tell. It could be a sign that Dorian had finally resolved the bet about when he'd serve up his first flop, just as easily as it might indicated that he'd done something right.

Skinner, Bull's slightly unnerving prep assistant and butcher, was staring at the both from across the kitchen, no doubt ready to report back anything the front of house staff might consider interesting gossip.

"You planning on serving this to customers?" Bull said, and Dorian ignored the twinge of disappointment he felt at Bull's sceptical tone.

Apparently someone was about to win that bet. "It's not finished yet," Dorian said, although he wasn't sure how he might salvage it, since it had tasted perfectly fine to him.

"Well finish it up and put it aside for later, then work on something else we can actually serve as a special," Bull said, using a more professional tone that Dorian had ever heard from him before. This was Bull speaking as his employer, not at the man with whom Dorian thought that he was growing to be good friends.

Dorian nodded, and Bull returned to his own workstation, leaving Dorian staring blankly at what leftover ingredients he had, trying to work out what he could make out of them which might be more acceptable to Bull, since Dorian's personal special was apparently unfit to even be offered to clients. _Kaffas_. He was fortunate. Such a waste of costly ingredients on an unsanctioned dish was enough to get one fired from some kitchen's back home, Bull simply wanted Dorian to start over. He'd used up his spices, but Dorian could muster something boring and Fereldan from the scraps, nothing which would impress even the dullest of palates, but something write on the board.

*

For the first time in a long while, when the last orders were finally finished, Dorian was looking forward to going home. Normally the after-hours socials were a time to work on his charm offensive against the few holdouts among Bull's staff who still disliked him, to listen to the gossip, and to enjoy good food and dubious ale, but this time Dorian just wanted to return to his cramped apartment, open up a bottle of distressingly mediocre wine and nurse his wounded ego in peace. Objectively he knew that taste was personal, and that it was foolish to take offence at the criticism of his dish, but Dorian had always been embarrassingly prone to letting his emotions overrule his good sense.

He assisted with the clean-up, something that had never been expected of him in Tevinter, even in his lowliest days of being a line cook fresh out of training, but which he'd adapted to quickly after realising that, while the task wasn't strictly within the purview of his employment as a chef, to refuse would have drawn the ire of the rest of the staff. Once that was finished though, he made his way to the lockers by the archway where the kitchen met the stairwell which lead to the dining room, opening his roughly and pulling his coat from it's hanger.

"Whoa there big guy. Where do you think you're going?" Bull said from behind him and Dorian tensed. Perhaps he'd been wrong earlier when he'd assumed that Bull was being dismissive of the wasted ingredients, but perhaps he'd simply been waiting until the end of their shift to issue his reprimand in order to ensure that it didn't effect Dorian's work. Still, his tone didn't seem angry, and so Dorian slowly turned, hoping that Bull's face might clarify the situation.

Bull was grinning.

Dorian was entirely sure what was going on now, but he didn't think he was about to be confronted by a pissed off boss. Indeed, when Dorian met Bull's gaze, the other man's expression shifted into something concerned. "You okay there?" he asked. "It's not like you to rush off. Thought you'd wanna see the boys faces when they tried what you whipped up for the special tonight. Been a while since we had a proper dinner with all the crew, so may as well do it while we've got something that isn't leftovers."

Dorian didn't know how Bull got away with calling all of his staff boys regardless of gender, he'd have thought it would be a lawsuit in the making, but it seemed that Bull's people had embraced the eccentricity. "I'm not sure there's enough for everyone," Dorian said hesitantly. "I wasn't aware I was cooking for everyone."

Bull shrugged. "Doesn't matter. There'll be some like Dalish who wouldn't be able to take the heat anyway, but it'll be fun."

Dorian nodded, returning his coat to the locker. "I suppose I ought to get it ready to serve then," he said, and Bull grinned.

"That's more like it," he said. "There's plenty of bread left over to serve it with, I'm gonna go ahead and bring a jug or two of milk up, I reckon certain people are gonna need it." He laughed and, baffled, Dorian returned to the abandoned crock pot.

He'd left the thing simmering, so most of the liquid was properly drained off, it just needed a few quick stirs to fix where it had separated out a little, and then he ladled it into two large serving bowls which he carried carefully up the stairs to where the staff had pushed two tables together and laid out jugs of milk and water, with a breadbasket piled high.

Dorian laid the dishes out, and glanced around. The only empty seat was next to Bull on the far side of the table. He didn't want to be trapped if he had to face cricisism. Growing up in Tevinter had made Dorian a master of maintaining his composure in the face of all sorts of slights and indignities, but he was out of practise and had shown these people too much of his true self He could drag another chair over, but it might seem rude.

The Bull caught Dorian's eye and gestured to the empty seat, leaving him with little choice.

"So what's it called?" Bull said, as Grim and Rocky passed around bowls and people began ladling out servings.

Dorian shrugged. "It doesn't have a name, I've never put it on a menu, I was going to ask for a suggestion before you vetoed it for the menu."

Bull's eyebrows shot up. "You were going to let me name your dish?" he asked, softly enough to nearly be drowned out by the chatter of the others.

Dorian could feel heat suffuse his cheeks and thanked the maker that his complexion didn't show blushes easily. "I was going to ask your opinion," he corrected primly. "I've been tweaking it for years and since I've never come to a decision I figured outside input could hardly hurt."

Bull nodded. "I got nothing right now," he said. "But perhaps a full helping will inspire me."

By now most people had been served, and when the serving dish reached them Bull offered it first to Dorian, who shook his head. His stomach was too twisted from his earlier concerns about Bull hating the dish and now it bubbling with anxiety over serving his dish to so many people for the first time, killing any shred of appetite he might have. In response Bull stacked his personal plate on top of Dorian's and claimed the serving bowl for himself.

"Seriously?" said Dalish from across the table.

Bull smirked. "I've already tried it. I know what's good."

Dalish rolled her eyes, scooping up a mouthful with her bread and taking the first bite. Dorian watched her carefully. For a moment her expression twisted into the same thoughtful look Bull had initial taken on, then she squeezed her eyes shut and cursed in an unfamiliar tongue, groping blindly for her glass and downing the water inside of it.

"Damn..." said Krem from the far left. “Now I'm intrigued..." Instead of being hesitant after Dalish's response, he took a large mouthful and nodded approvingly for a moment before grimacing. "Venhedis... that's got a kick to it," he gasped, but he was already scooping up another mouthful.

In the end the group seemed split pretty evenly between those who reacted with comical shock to the spice, and those who promptly stole the portions of the ones who couldn't finish and revelled in the heat of it.

After about half an hour most people were finished or overwhelmed, drifting off in twos and threes with either claims that they were going to find more milk or demanding that Dorian cook the dish again for them at some point.

Finally only Bull and Dorian were left.

Bull reached up stretching his whole body, and when he relaxed one of his arms dropped back to its previous position while the other landed on the back of Dorian's chair which... couldn't be deliberate. Surely Bull wouldn't attempt such a cliché and obvious move. Then again, based on what Dorian had learned over the past few months, if anyone of his acquaintance would try such a thing it would be Bull.

"That went well," Dorian said.

Bull nodded. "Yeah. You see now why I asked you to do a different special."

Dorian paused. In truth he didn't - if the food had been good enough for the staff then why wasn't it good enough for the customers - but Bull seemed to think Dorian ought to know and he didn't want to seem ignorant.

"I mean imagine how pissed the boys would have been if you'd served that up without letting them get first dibs. I'm pretty sure Rocky ate four bowls of the stuff. I cook with a lot of spice but this is the hottest thing I've tasted since coming south," he smirked then, looking Dorian up and down, "Though maybe you could improve on that."

Dorian felt heat suffuse his face. Bull couldn't possibly mean... "If you’re implying what it sounds like you are then don't," he said.

Bull's hand dropped from Dorian’s chair, and Dorian hesitated before adding, "After what you've just eaten there are undoubtedly traces in your mouth of spices which don't belong anywhere near sensitive skin."

Bull let out a snort of laughter, his arm returning to wrap around Dorian's shoulders. "You sure? Could be interesting, I though you ‘vints liked it spicy in the bedroom."

"Not that sort of spicy," Dorian retorted, wincing at the prospect.

"Well, I'll eat some yoghurt first, how about that?" Bull said with a laugh.

Dorian's only answer was to roll his eyes, but he let Bull's arm stay.


	17. first kiss

That first night together, Bull hadn’t kissed Dorian. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, things just happened that way. They’d been drinking and talking, and he’d flirted and instead of spluttering and getting defensive Dorian had nodded and stood, and then they’d both been in Bull’s room and, well, given how long there’d been something building between them it wasn’t so surprising that they’d skipped straight to the heavy stuff.

Still it is an oversight Bull intends to correct. He’s already had a taste of Dorian, and he’s had proof that Dorian was good with his mouth, but he wants both together.

They’ve not had quite so much to drink, there’s a pull between them still, but that first night had taken the edge off some of the tension. Dorian has unbuckled his robe, is bare to the hips, but Bull isn’t in quite so much of a rush. He grasps Dorian waist, so solid for a human, and when Dorian looks up at him Bull leans down and presses their mouths together.

Dorian tenses beneath his hands and stands stock still and Bull wonders if he’s done something wrong. Then Dorian is kissing back, lips parting hot and easy as he stretches upwards onto the balls of his feet to even out their height gap.

Bull pulls away.

Dorian stares up at him, lips parted and cheeks flushed, somehow looking more wrecked than he had after a night of Bull working him over, and Bull has to ask, “Watchword?”

Dorian’s brow furrows above his wide eyes. “It’s Katoh. Is something wrong?”

“You stopped for a moment there,” Bull explains. “I needed to check in to make sure you weren’t just going along, that you remembered what to say if you weren’t into it.”

“Oh.” Dorian swallows, nodding. “I… my ap-”

“No,” Bull cuts in sharply. “You don’t need to apologise for that. If you don’t want to-”

“I do!”

Dorian’s voice is high and a little frantic. “I want,” he says, “I mean… if you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” Bull says with a raised eyebrow. He can’t imagine many situations in which he’d mind kissing Dorian, but he suspects that this is about another of those weird vint things, and while he won’t make Dorian explain he is grimly curious.

“Men in Tevinter… that sort of kissing, mouths is considered excessively feminine and overly intimate. It’s not done. Not like it is in the south.”

Bull nods. Yep. Fucking stupid vint shit. “You’ve done that before though,” he observes. “You’re too good at it to be a beginner.”

“Well yes, boys are prone to silly little experiments,” he scoffed. “And there’s always one or two drunkards who forget themselves but… it’s been a while.”

He sounded wistful and Bull nodded, and then leaned down to claim Dorian’s mouth once again. He’d had a few other things he’d wanted to introduce Dorian to that evening, but they could wait. For now he was going to help Dorian catch up on everything he’d missed out on - there were plenty of positions which could work just fine without him ever needing to get his mouth off of Dorian’s. If kisses were what Dorian needed, then Bull would give would give him more than he knew what to do with.

 


	18. Bull is Dorian's kid's kindergarten teacher AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved this prompt when I saw it, although I’m somewhat concerned that I got a little tangled in the execution. Also sidetracked by Krem. Why does Krem always hijack my plots when I include him? Much thanks to alex-moriarty.tumblr.com for his constructive feedback on writing about Krem’s gender identity.
> 
>  **Warnings** for some transphobic comments and misgendering of a child in the section before the first asterisk. Also for my massive dislike for Mother Giselle showing though in the way I make her even more rude and awful than she is in canon here.

When Dorian had signed up for the Haven County foster care programme it had been an idle decision, spurred by vague notions of being a better man than his father, and being able to pay forward some of the kindness the Alexius family had shown to him before Livia’s death and Felix’s illness. He’d figured that he’d been unlikely to get assigned anyone, given that a great number of people would have considered his status as a Tevene immigrant, a mage and a homosexual to make him practically a blockbuster movie villain in the making and certainly not someone who ought to have any sort of influence over a child. Indeed, although he was approved after his initial assessment (by a woman who looked at him in the same manner that one might a slug found in the kitchen), he’d gone over a year without any contact from them and had been considering turning the second bedroom of his apartment back into an office when he’d received a somewhat frantic phone-call at half-past five in the morning asking if he would be available for an emergency placement at such short notice. Half asleep and somewhat unprepared to deal with such a conversation so early in the morning he had agreed. An hour and a quarter later, freshly showered and appropriately dressed he’d answered the door for a harried looking social worker and a scowling child in the pinkest, frilliest dress that Dorian had ever seen.

A year later, Krem is dressed in far more fitting attire but is scowling just as fiercely.

He also sports the beginnings of a black eye.

A black eye - on a five year old!

“Kaffas!” Dorian exclaims, and he ducks down to examine Krem’s face. “What happened?” He probably shouldn’t swear in front of Krem or his teachers, it’s not the sort of thing that the fostering agency would approve of, but it’s not like many people down south know enough to Tevene to call him out on it.

“Your… ward got in a fight,” the headmistress says disdainfully.

“The sports teacher said I had to change with the girls,” Krem protests. “And then all of the others starting calling me a girl.” Despite his injury, he looks angry rather than tearful and Dorian thanks the Maker for small mercies.

Pursing his lips and drawing a deep breath, Dorian turns to the head. “I was led to believe that you understood the circumstances surrounding Krem’s paperwork.”

The woman sighed. “Yes, yes. You want her called a boy. I’m sorry, but student records can only be changed by a parent or permanent legal guardian, of which you are neither.”

Not yet he isn’t. And, Dorian reminds himself as he fells heat flare across his fingertips, if he lashes out at Krem’s teacher, he’ll find it even harder than it already was to rectify that situation.

“I am _his_ current and only legal guardian and I see no reason why you are unable to update your records with _accurate_ information,” Dorian snaps.

“Our information is biologically accurate,” headmistress Giselle corrects, in a prim voice that reminds him of the tutors his father tried to hire for him and has him twitching to start a fire. “And, even if it were not, it’s not your place-”

Dorian slams his hand down onto her desk. “It is entirely my place! Am I to assume that the reason I wasn’t contacted immediately about this incident was also because you disapprove of my guardianship? What if he were to have been more seriously hurt?”

“The school has sufficient policies in place,” she began and Dorian shook his head.

“No! I left him in your care less than a day and return to find that he has been harassed and assaulted-”

“There’s no need for such dramatics,” she says, in a tone that might be trying for soothing but it mostly damn annoying. “Our school’s policy on fighting is very clear, serah Pavus. We are a prestigious academy, that sort of uncouth behaviour may be tolerated in Tevinter, but here in the south we practise true Andrastian teachings. We are good people and we do not tolerate violence.”

“So will whomever hit him also be suspended?” Dorian asks. He begrudgingly steps back from her desk, but feels a vicious twist of pleasure at the scorch mark his hand has left on the polished wood. The school had come well recommended, he’d had high hopes, but it now occurs to him that those recommendations had come from southerners.

Headmistress Giselle smiles condescendingly. “School policy dictates I cannot give you the name of the other child involved. As they were only defending themselves, they have been reminded that violence is wrong and encouraged to pray for Andraste’s guidance. But as Cremisa,”

“Krem,” Dorian interjects.

“-was the instigator, and you requested that she not participate in prayer…” headmistress Giselle pulls a face, as if not forcing the southern chant on a child too young to understand the full implications of the words was tantamount to blood magic, “…Cremisa has been issued with a suspension and will be allowed to return to classes next week. You may want to use the time to consider encouraging-”

“No,” Dorian replies. “He will not be returning to classes next week.”

“The suspension is final,” headmistress Giselle protests, “You cannot-”

“This school came highly recommended,” Dorian says. “Evidently, those recommendations were false. Krem will not be returning next week, indeed he will not be returning at all. No child of mine is going to attend a school with such a lax policy to respecting-”

“The tuition fee for her first term is non-refundable,” Mother Giselle interjects, as if money might make a damn bit of difference to Dorian’s ire. He dislikes the thought of the school having his money, but he isn’t about to put Krem through misery just to, what? Get his money’s worth?

“There isn’t money enough in the world to convince me that Krem ought to endure so much as another day at your disgrace of a school. If you’ve managed to do so much damage in a day, I dread to think what three months might bring. My-” Dorian bites back on the word son. Maker knows he’d sign an adoption agreement in a heartbeat, that’s not solely his decision to make. “Krem will be educated by people with intelligence to treat him with the respect he deserves. By all means, keep the money. I hope you choke on it,” he spits, and then, with a crackle of angry electricity, he takes Krem by the hand and leaves.

*

Several hours later, once Krem has been given an icepack for his eye and treated to pizza for dinner and, having cheered up a little, been put to bed, Dorian opens up his laptop and clicks to the page that he’d thought he was done with. Schools within the Skyhold city limits. And here he’d thought this particular chore was finally over with.

He almost sympathised now, with his father’s frustration with Dorian’s expulsions from near to every halfway decent circle in Tevinter, the process of finding a decent school was a tiresome one and enrolment even more so. The difference between Dorian and his father being that Dorian refused to accept the idea of letting Krem suffer in a school which made him miserable simply because it was convenient.

He’d initially chosen the Academy of Our Lady Victorious because it had a track record of good inspection results and outstanding student exam performance, the clear southern chantry influence had given him pause but he’d assumed that a school of that calibre would have staff who would be professional about such things.

Dorian didn’t regret saying yes the morning the social worker had called him about Krem, but he did wish he’d been warned about the headaches.

*

Two weeks, interviews at seven difference schools and an entire packet of ibuprofen later, Krem is still not attending school and Dorian has received a rather ominous phone-call from social services reminding him that if Krem went too long without being provided a proper education then they would consider it an act of negligence and Krem would be moved on and Dorian struck from the foster care listings.

“Should send him to my old school,” Sera declares when Dorian explains his dilemma to her, and it’s a sign of how low Dorian has sunk in the past two weeks that he doesn’t dismiss the suggestion as a joke. Sera is smarter than she often seems, and while Dorian expects that’s a product of innate intelligence and some interesting life experiences rather than traditional education, a school is a school and Dorian can always transfer Krem to somewhere better later, once he’d had time to actually find somewhere suitable.

“I wasn’t aware you’d been to school,” Dorian jokes instead. “Do tell?”

Sera grins. “Not much, yeah, on account of moving around too much. Didn’t do any in Denerim, and in Val Royeaux… well, anyway! Yeah, it’s one big school, right out on the edge of town, from the littlies right up to grown ones who are leaving for good, but it takes all sorts. Dwarves and dalish and there was this one weird-y guy who said he was a spirit. Still know people there, I do, and that lot wouldn’t get funny about you.”

Dorian hesitates, but he’s all out of options. “Do you know how I could contact them?”

*

At 4pm on Monday, Krem has a death-grip on Dorian’s hand. He’s not normally a clingy child, but given than his sole experience of school thus far was an unmitigated disaster Dorian supposes it’s not so surprising. The school runs an after-school programme until six pm, a mix of games and assisted study for those students whose parents can’t collect them at the end of the standard day, and they’d been invited to visit during that period in order to introduce Krem to his teacher and the new environment while things are less busy. A wide eyed receptionist had greeted them as “Sera’s friends” and led them to the classroom for the youngest children, then looked down at their hands and in a knowing tone invited them to enter whenever they were ready.

Reassuring people was never a skill Dorian had truly developed, but for Krem’s sake he tries. “Well now, Sera likes these people and you like Sera,” he says. “So how about we go in and see how well you like them?”

Krem looks sceptical but nods. He’s a brave child, with a streak of stubbornness that Dorian hopes will carry him far in life.

Although they’d been told that things would be less busy in the evening, the classroom is still loud when they enter. There are children playing catch in the centre of the room, and another group chattering enthusiastically as they colour while sitting on cushions. There’s nary a desk in sight, and it looks like no classroom Dorian has even been in before. The only adult in the room is a seven foot tall qunari man, whose broad left horn clips the lampshade hanging from the ceiling as he turns to greet them. “Hey there. I’d heard we’d got a potential new kid coming along. I’m Bull. What do you like to be called?” the man, who as much as Dorian’s mind boggles at the thought must by the teacher, says, focusing entirely on Krem. Everything Dorian had learned about qunari growing up rejects the idea of a qunari teaching small children - he knows some of what he knows comes from propaganda and could likely been discarded, but growing up the coast of the Ventosus Straits means he’d also seen his fair share of raiding parties and he knows that it’s not all lies.

Krem, who has been raised in the south and never learned much of anything about Qunari, just stares up at Bull with wide eyes before finally blurting out his name.

“Krem. That’s a good strong name. I like it.”

The corners of Krem’s lips quirk up. It’s the best reaction he’s had to a teacher so far and Dorian can feel another headache coming on.

“I heard you got off to a bumpy start at your last school, buddy?” Bull asks and Krem nods.

“They were mean,” he declared and Bull nods sagely.

“Ah, that’s not good. Well, we’re not mean here, so why don’t you go say hi to the others.”

Krem glances around the room and then presses himself against Dorian’s trouser leg. Unfazed, Bull waves at a boy in a green shirt across the room who comes bounding over. “This is Krem,” Bull says, “How about you show him around the room? I bet he’d like to see the colourings corner.”

The boy grins and holds out a hand to Krem, who doesn’t take it but does shuffle slowly away from Dorian’s side. “C'mon,” the boy says, “I drew the best picture of a druffalo.” Krem glances up at Dorian, who nods encouragingly at him, and then allows himself to be led away. Hopefully this won’t all end in tears.

“So you’re Krem’s dad?” Bull confirms, turning his focus to Dorian.

Technically no, but that’s not a dispute that Dorian’s interested in getting into. As far a Bull needs to know it’s true.

“Dorian Pavus,” he introduces himself, “And you’re Bull?” Dorian can’t quite keep the disbelief from his tone.

“Technically I’m The Iron Bull, but that’s a bit of a mouthful for some of the littler kids.”

“A mouthful, yes, I’m sure you are-” Wait, what? Dorian groans, pressing a palm to his face as he realises his slip. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long week and I-”

Bull laughs and claps Dorian hard on the shoulder. “Gotta say, when Sera called you a ‘posh vint’ I was expecting someone a little different.”

Face still hot, Dorian takes a deep breath and points out that, “Sera thinks clothes without holes in them are posh.”

Bull nods. “True. She likes you well enough though, and she did the whole foster care thing as a kid so she knows her shi-stuff.”

Dorian raises his eyebrows and to his surprise Bull actually looks abashed. “Sorry,” he says, “I’m pretty good at watching my language when talking with the kids, even if I can’t always say the same for them. Guess I just forgot myself for a moment.”

Dorian nods. Once upon a time he’d have been shocked at the thought of swearing in a classroom but, well, there are far worse things. “Well thus far Krem only knows how to swear in Tevene, perhaps his classmates will be able to broaden his vocabulary.”

“Yeah, chatty kid, is he?” Bull asks, nodding in the direction Krem shuffled off. Dorian glances over and feels his jaw slacken a little. Krem, who got in a fight on his first day of school and has been silent and sullen on every school visit Dorian has taken him on since, is perched on a beanbag with one of the paper fortune tellers that all Tevene children learn how to make at some point, demonstrating its use to a huddle of enthralled five year olds. Dorian screws his eyes shut and shakes his head a little, but when he opens them nothing has changed.

“After a single day at his last school he said he never wanted to play with other children again,” Dorian confesses, “I…”

Bull nods. “Yeah, kids can take bad experiences to heart. But my lot are pretty good to each other. I figure they can work on memorising facts when they’re old, the most important thing for them at this age is learning how to be good people.”

That sounds like a lot of hippie nonsense to Dorian, who cannot remember a time growing up when greater academic achievement was not his primary goal, but Krem is laughing, a wicked little giggle that reminds Dorian painfully of a much younger Felix but lifts his heart when coming from Krem who is far too serious for a child so young. If Bull’s strange methods have this sort of result…

“How soon can he start?”


	19. actor au

Normally when Bull works on a project the first scenes they shoot are simple, a time to get the actors eased into their processes and characters and for the crew to figure out an unexpected technical issues, such as that one film where no matter what set up the used Bull had to be constantly careful to avoid hitting the boom mike with his horns. This time though, they're opening with an unusually challenging scene and Bull is pretty sure it's a test. The read-throughs might be done but Bull can tell Director Cadash still isn't entirely certain of the project.

Or rather, he's not entirely certain of Dorian Pavus.

In fairness, Bull himself hadn't been quite sure what to make of the news that Dorian Pavus, principal dancer of the Tevene Imperial Ballet, had apparently quit his company and signed on to play the requisite megalomaniacal 'vint villain in Cadash's popcorn action flick. Pavus had been inscrutable during all of their encounters thus far, in rehearsal he'd been the embodiment of the campy magister trope, cackling and twirling his moustache (Bull had googled him and apparently he hadn't grown it specially for the part, he just apparently felt that an evil villain moustache suited him and, well, he wasn't wrong), but the moment he broke character he might as well have been a robot, polite but rigid. He wasn't unprofessional, but if he kept that up he was going to be a real drag on set.

It's the initial confrontation between the hero, played by the charismatic Garrett Hawke who is accompanied by Bull as his mentor/slash sidekick, and Dorian's villain, whose leather costume is a whole lot tighter that it had looked in the concept art.

They've done a quick run through of the blocking, and the camera crew are ready to go, Bull stands next to Hawke just off camera, while Dorian is settled in his seat behind his characters ornate desk.

Cadash surveys them for a moment, looking far too weary given how early on in the production they are, and then sighs and calls, "Action."

Garret strides out onto the set, Bull a half pace behind, and slams both palms down onto Dorian's desk.

"You won't get away with this!" he yells and out of the corner of his eye Bull can see the sound-guys frantically adjusting things - yeah, Hawke is LOUD.

Dorian doesn't look up from the top of the line tablet in his hands. To the camera it must look like he's hard at work, but from where Bull's standing it's clear he's playing some sort of word game.

Hawke waves the prop envelope in his hands around, "I have evidence! I'll go to the papers, everyone will know what you've done and you'll-,"

Dorian flicks a finger in Hawke's direction and the envelope bursts into flames.

Hawke drops the envelop, while giving the highest pitch shriek that Bull has ever heard, and he's hooked up with some extremely vocal women over the years.

"CUT!" yells Cadash. "WHAT THE FUCK, PAVUS? SOMEBODY GET A FIRE EXTINGUISTER OVER HERE."

Dorian blinks, and with a turn of his wrist the fire is gone.

Cadash stares at Dorian. Dorian stares right back.

If Bull were to put a label to each of their facial expressions right now, both would be 'what the fuck?'.

"You just..." Cadash says finally. "Dorian, why the fuck did you just start a fire on set? And a magical fire at that!"

Dorian frowns, opening the desk drawer and pulling out his script from where he's stashed it. "What are you talking about?" he asks, sounding tense, flipping through the pages before holding it out to Cadash. "Look, it says right here: line seven, Valerius incinerates the evidence."

Cadash gapes at Dorian, he isn't the only one.

"You're not supposed to actually burn it!" Hawke interrupts. "They add that in later with CGI."

Dorian frowns incredulously. "I know this is hardly an art film, but you really expect me to believe you're going to use that horrible fake stuff over magic?" Dorian pauses, and when nobody responds he adds, "Why hire a mage if you're not going to make use of magic?"

"It's dangerous!" one of the lighting crew yells, and there's a flash of anger on Dorian's face before he pulls the mask of professional calm back around him.

"Don't be ridiculous," he says, the glances at Hawke. "Did you feel any heat?"

Hawke pauses and then shakes his head. "Uh, no. But I dropped it pretty fast."

Dorian rolls his eyes. "In Tevinter we use magic in performance all the time, I assure you, it's perfectly safe and under control."

Cadash looks sceptical and Dorian draws in a deep breath. When he sighs the air comes out a narrow thread of flame, which twists and turns until it's in the shape of a dragon burning in mid-air. After a long moment in dissipates, leaving not even a trace of ash, and, while everyone else is staring at Dorian, Bull reaches down and discretely adjusts his trousers. Damn...

When he refocuses on the others, Dorian is looking wary and Cadash looks regretful, but Garrett is smirking. Garrett is a lot like Bull, minus the horns, and he totally gets the whole dragon thing. Garrett looks like he has an idea and Cadash isn't going to be eager to say no to that sort of star power.

"Hey, Dorian," he says. "Can you do lightning?"

Dorian nods slowly. "It's not my main school but I'm trained well enough it. Some of the more operatic elements of Tevinter theatre make great use of storms," he says, with startling fervour.

Garrett turns to Cadash. "I've just had an award winning idea for how we can spice up the final battle..."

Cadash nods slowly. They all know that scene is weak, relies a little too much on character drama for their genre. "Alright... everybody TAKE TWENTY. Hawke, come back to my trailer and we'll talk."

People start to drift away from the set immediately, Hawke and Cadash among them, but Dorian remains seated at his characters desk.

Bull had kind of wondered if Dorian had hated his old job, given how different this production was from anything else on his CV, but the way he'd spoken about opera, "So, storms in a theatre, how does that work?"

Dorian looks up at him, a light in his eyes which shines past his professionalism. "Well it's all a matter of meta-atmospheric sub-rhythms," he begins, and Bull leans on the desk to listen.

What Dorian is doing here is a mystery, but Bull's got time to figure him out.


	20. as a lover should

The first time Dorian leaves, Bull doesn’t expect him to be back. Oh sure, when he finds Dorian’s discarded under-things he doesn’t pass up the opportunity to tease, but he’s aware that’s not how this sort of thing works. Not for Bull, because qunari don’t tend to mix sex and friends more than necessary; and not for Dorian, because Tevinter doesn’t go for that kind of thing, and even if Dorian wants things to change he isn’t there yet and Bull isn’t the kind of guy people try that with.

Still, a week later Dorian saunters into Bull’s rooms with a casual disdain which is almost convincing and settles himself on Bull’s bed as if he belongs there. 

“So you’ve decided you do want those under-things back then?” Bull teases, and Dorian rolls his eyes.

“After they’ve been in your possession for eight days? No thank you. They’ve probably somehow acquired stripes, or some sort of hideous embroidery,” he huffs. “I’ve others.”

“Middle drawer,” Bull says, waiting while Dorian retrieves the garment in question. He’d had them laundered with his own things, since coming to Skyhold there’s been enough other people’s things mixed in with Bull’s own that he’s confident the laundresses have become accustomed to such things and are unlikely to speculate as to their origins.

Dorian inspects them for a moment before slipping them into a pocket of his robes and raises his eyebrows at Bull. “You know, I’d expected more of a challenge.”

“Hey, they’re your under-things,” Bull says, “Finders keepers is okay on a certain sort of battlefield, not so much in bed. Doubt they’d have fit me anyway.”

Dorian pulls a face, surprised and a little confused, which transitions into surprised and a little turned on as he seems to consider the idea. Huh. The image is hardly compatible with the savage qunari conquest fantasies that Bull had pegged Dorian as having, but Bull supposes that it made sense that he has other tastes as well. After all, qunari were hardly commonplace in Tevinter and Dorian hadn’t exactly been celibate before coming south.

“Though,” Bull adds, “I’d like to see those others that you mentioned.”

Dorian smiles, shifting one hand to toy with the clasp of his robes. “Oh really? Why don’t you show me how much?”

Bull grins. It’s not often people express and interest in a second night once their curiosity is satisfied, but Dorian would be type who want to test if Bull could repeat his performance. Well, Bull is happy to show him.

*

The third time is a shock. Bull’s been left at Skyhold while the Inquisitor took Dorian, Solas and Sera to the Emerald Graves, and he hadn’t even heard that they were back before Dorian comes storming into his room, locking the door behind him and shedding his outer robe as if it’s personally offended him.

“The Inquisitor back already?” Bull asks, setting down his ledger and focusing on Dorian. “I figured you’d be out there for at least a few weeks yet.”

“No,” Dorian huffs, “And thank the Maker for small mercies. I have a great deal of respect Inquisitor Lavellan but if I’d had to listen to one more argument about the traditions of the Dalish versus those of the ancient elvhen, with aggressive interjections about city elves, we’d have returned short a party member.”

Bull had thought at the time that it had been an unwise choice for the Inquisitor to take both Solas and Sera to a site of great importance to her and her people, and his sympathy for Dorian is somewhat tainted with the satisfaction of being proven right.

“Sounds like you need a drink,” Bull says. “Sure Cabot can rustle up something suitably non-elfy.”

Dorian shakes his head. “I need a good fuck,” he says, and damn but it’s hot to hear him speaking so plainly about a topic Bull knows he prefers to dance around.

“You sure?” Bull asks. People make bad decisions when they are angry, and he doesn’t want to be party to Dorian doing something he’ll regret once some of the frustration had worn away.

Dorian nods and then smirks a little, reassuringly cocky. “Perhaps once we’re done I’ll tell you about the dragon we killed. A roar like nothing I’ve ever heard before.”

That sends a jolt of fire through Bull’s veins. A dragon. A dragon that Dorian is comfortable just dropping into the conversation as a tease. And Dorian has come straight to him with the tale.

Bull stands. “I heard you can multitask,” he says, unfastening his belt. “Undress and tell me about the dragon.”

Dorian rolls his eyes, but he tugs at the laces of his breeches and starts talking.

*

It keeps happening. Bull isn’t sure what to make of it. He’d known the whole conquering qunari game worked for Dorian since pretty soon after they’d met, but the way he keeps coming back, time and time again, long after the point when all other Bull’s other hook-ups have lost interest, has Bull wondering if Dorian’s qunari thing not so much of a kink as it is a fetish. That could be a problem. Sex with Dorian is great, but Bull knows that Dorian’s a romantic at heart, has seen the way he looks at Skyhold’s married couples, the way he slanders Cassandra’s novel selection because he’s read so much better, and he doesn’t want Dorian finding relief with him to ruin Dorian’s chances of getting that.

Also, if Dorian’s type is qunari he’s going to have a rough time of it. There aren’t a lot of them in the south, and even tal-vashoth can be funny about mages sometimes. Probably the smartest move would be for Bull to point him in the direction of somebody more appropriate, but Bull finds that there’s no one in the Inquisition who seems like they could be what Dorian needs. Oh there’s good men aplenty, but they aren’t right for Dorian, or at least that’s what he tells himself - it’s easier to swallow than the admission that while he’d let Dorian leave at any time, he covets the soft moments after sex when Dorian is loose limbed and unguarded, when he smiles at Bull like all is right in the world, and when he falls asleep half sprawled across Bull’s chest - a soft, solid weight.

The first few mornings after, Dorian was prickly, but now he has duplicates of his kohl and the wax he uses to keep his hair and moustache in place ready for when he awakens and he takes his time working up the courage to leave the warmth of Bull’s arms and the blankets in order to face the world. There’s no more sneaking out at sunup while Bull pretends to still be sleeping, instead there’s another round of sex, or perhaps just sleepy chatter. It’s cute, even if Bull can’t quite fathom the situation.

Tonight there’s a party in the Herald’s Rest. Bull isn’t really certain what it’s for, it could be a birthday as easily as a victory, just that there’s a lot of drunk and noisy soldiers and Cabot has shown no inclination towards throwing them out as long as they can keep the coin flowing. The Chargers have crashed the party with glee, but Bull’s got an early start with the Inquisitor in the morning, and while he could sleep through the level of noise they’re producing, he doesn’t really want to.

When his bedroom door swings open, he’s expecting a lost drunk, but instead it’s Dorian. Unusual. Normally Dorian avoids coming near the Tavern when it’s overly crowded, says he dislikes mixing with the riff-raff, but Bull suspects it’s more because Dorian is all too aware of the numbers who dislike him on principle for his origins.

“You can’t really expect to sleep here, through this ghastly noise,” Dorian says, and Bull shrugs.

“I’ve slept through worse,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

Dorian rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, ben-hassrath training makes you utterly unflappable,” he grouses, “Now do follow me.”

Well… it’s not like Bull’s got anything better to do. He gets back into his boots and lets Dorian lead him through Skyhold, across the courtyard and up into the main building. They cut through the library, deserted bar a few tranquil at this hour, and it’s not until they’re headed down a corridor that Bull vaguely remembers moving furniture through when they were first setting up at Skyhold that Bull realises where Dorian is taking him.

He has to duck to follow Dorian through the door at the end of the hallway and while Dorian flops melodramatically down onto a battered armchair, Bull takes the opportunity to look around.

He’s never been in Dorian’s quarters before. Somehow the mage had managed to a snag chamber with a private bath. Useful to know. The room is a little small, but it’s packed full of heavy drapes to ward off the mountain cold and the bed is a thick framed product of Fereldan craftsmanship, a little small but sturdy looking.

He hadn’t exactly been feeling like hooking up with Dorian tonight, it’s been a long day of training, and then there’s that upcoming early start, but if Dorian’s got it so bad he’s willing to drag Bull up to his private room (the room that, judging by the dust, not even he maids are allowed in) then Bull can be accommodating.

“So eager that you had to come fetch me, big guy?” he teases, unfastening his belt.

Dorian scoffs. “I overheard some discussion of a party tonight. Apparently it’s the anniversary of the end of the fifth blight, the brave Hero of Fereldan battling through the streets of Denerim until she finally slew the archdemon at near dawn, and the soldiery are planning on commemorating the occasion by drinking ‘till near dawn.”

Bull nods. “So that’s what that was about, yeah the chargers were enjoying how lively things were.”

“They would,” Dorian huffed. “But you’re out early with the Inquisitor and while I’m sure you could sleep through the racket that rabble is making, I doubt you’d sleep well.”

That’s true enough. “So you figured my time was better spent keeping you company?”

“I figured you’d sleep better in a quieter bed. We’re a long way from the tavern up here.”

Dorian says it so casually, even though Bull knows that for Dorian to invite him into his space can’t be easy. Asking Dorian outright if he’s sure is liable to piss him off, Bull thinks it’s important to confirm these things, but Dorian tends to grumble about being undermined as if Bull’s questions were an attempt to trick him into changing his mind. Instead Bull replies, “I’m going to be headed out early tomorrow, I’m not going to bother you when I get up?”

Dorian sighs. “Oh don’t play the hulking oxman with me right now, we both know you’re more than capable of moving detected when you want to.”

That’s sort of true. Bull is good at being quite, which is often the core of stealth, but given that Dorian tends to wind up draped all over Bull when he’s sleeping, noise is hardly the foremost issue. But Bull is tired and Dorian’s offer is good one. He strips down and spends a few minutes trying to work out the best way to occupy Dorian’s bed without his horns scratching the headboard or his feet hanging off the end, but eventually he drifts off surrounded by the scent of Dorian’s sheets, and the sound of Dorian turning the pages of his book by flickering candlelight.

*

After than night in Dorian’s rooms he’s found Dorian visiting him more and more frequently without the expectation of a fuck. He’ll stagger in after a long day and curl up in Bull’s bed as if it’s somehow more appealing than his own, or drop in just to talk about his frustrations with the Skyhold librarian’s apparently over-conservative literary sensibilities. He’s always waiting when Bull returns from voyaging with the Inquisitor, and sometimes they fuck but other times Bull will lie down and Dorian will straddle him and work the tension out of his body, coaxing sore muscles to peace with strong hands and just a touch of magic, while Bull talks out all that he’s been doing.

Bull’s been back in Skyhold a week after some mostly fruitless wandering of the Fallow Mire searching for an apostate who’s caused some concern. The Chargers left while he was away on an escort mission, accompanying some of the Inquisition’s less martial people to Val Royeaux, and Bull had left of drinking early for lack of company only for Dorian to come join Bull in his room, with a bottle of something nicer than Cabot’s usual.

They talked for a while about the Inquisitor, about the rumours that she’s garnered information about Corypheus’ plans and that there’ll be a fight soon. Bull’s pretty sure the rumours are true, she plays her cards close to her chest, but Bull was sent to the Inquisition as a spy and just because he’s not reporting back anymore doesn’t mean he’s stopped looking or listening. They’d slipped into quiet eventually, Dorian leaning against Bull’s side and passing the bottle back and forth between them without words. Sometimes it’s easy to live with the fact the world is falling apart, other times it weighs heavy.

“I was thinking about when all of this is finished,” Dorian says. “Eventually the Inquisition won’t be needed anymore… then what?”

Bull considers. It’ll be strange not answering to the Qun or the Inquisition, but his Chargers have his back; Dorian doesn’t have much outside of the Inquisition, not to tie him here, or to drag him back to Tevinter, his future is uncertain. Without the protection of the Inquisition there’s every chance the Southerners might try to put Dorian in a circle, which would hardly go well, but Dorian didn’t leave many friends behind in Tevinter and that vipers’ nest might be just as hazardous.

Bull’s answer is easy though. “We’ll stick around here until the Inquisition doesn’t need us, then my boys and I will be back to the usual. Even once the big shit’s cleared up, there’s gonna be plenty of lingering chaos after the whole mess of thing and plenty of nobles who’ll want protecting from it. As references go, it doesn’t get much better than the Inquisitor herself.”

Dorian sets his jaw and takes a slow breath before saying, almost too quiet to catch, “And what will that mean for what’s between us?”

Bull shrugs. “There’s a lot of ways this could go,” he says. Really, it’s on Dorian. Bull will spend his time travelling Orlais and Nevarra with his Chargers, its Dorian who is the complicated mystery here.

“Well,” Dorian says, puffing up a little in that way he does when he’s uncertain but doesn’t want it to show, “What did you expect from this?”

“Eh, I was kind of waiting for you to get bored,” Bull confesses.

For a split second Dorian looks like he’s been slapped, then he draws himself up tall, jaw tight and nose in the air. “Well for future reference,” Dorian says, “Most people consider it good manners to their one’s partner when one is done with them, instead of simply waiting for them to…”

“Woah big guy,” Bull says, wrapping a hand around Dorian’s arm to prevent his exit. Whatever is between them is teetering on the edge of a cliff right now, and Bull will not let it be ruined because he and Dorian are perhaps both overly confident in being able to assume what each other is thinking, when they could save it with just a few words. “I only meant that generally when people decide to ride the Bull they’re looking for a one-time experience,” he points out.

“They get on, get off, and then off they go?” Dorian says tersely, with a raised brow, and Bull lets out a little snort of laughter.

“Something like that,” he agrees. “It does the job. Why, what were you expecting from this?”

Dorian grimaces, it’s only for a moment before his face smooths into a façade of careful neutrality, but Bull knows Dorian’s not being sincere when he says, “Oh, I hadn’t really given it any consideration,” which would be a transparent lie anyway, given how fiercely he’d reacted to the idea that Bull was just waiting for him to be done. “Anything between men in Tevinter is merely an entertaining distraction… temporary.”

Bull had some ideas about that already, has known that Dorian longed for the more serious relationships, but there’s something off about his tone now, as if what he’s had with Bull isn’t like what he left behind in Tevinter. And not just because the sex is better.

“Aw shit… this has been a thing, hasn’t it? A relationship thing?”

Dorian scowls. “Hardly. A ‘relationship’ is something built by two parties, we had no such agreement.”

“No,” Bull agrees. “But that’s what you’ve been wanting, isn’t it?”

Dorian opens his mouth and begins a protest, but Bull cuts him off. “Ben-Hassrath training was about judging that sort of thing from the outside. Damn,” all those times that Dorian had come to him first after time in the field; the quiet, gentle moments and almost chaste touches, “If I’d seen you being so sweet on anybody else it would’ve been obvious. Didn’t even occur to me that you’d pick me to get all…”

“Yes, yes and more fool me,” Dorian says.

Bull shakes his head. “It’s cute,” he offers, balancing his tone in order to make sure Dorian knows he’s being conciliatory not condescending. His mind is racing. This thing with Dorian, it’s been good. There’s something satisfying about having the same person coming around again and again, getting to learn exactly what works for them via experimentation, but it’s not just sex. All those quiet moments, the consideration Dorian’s show, that Bull has appreciated but not truly recognised for what they were until this moment, that’s been Dorian treating him like a lover, and fuck if Bull doesn’t want more of that. He’ll have to go careful though, he’s learned from experience that there aren’t many that make Dorian more suspicious than people giving him what he wants.

“You know Qunari don’t do romance, right?” he confirms, and Dorian huffs.

“I’m an idiot, it was-,”

“But I’m not a Qunari anymore.” And sometimes that gives him nightmares still, his boys were worth it but that doesn’t mean that loosing the Qun wasn’t a sacrifice… that’s not a trail of thought for right now though. Normally Bull finds it pretty easy to know what to say to people, to put them at ease and to get what he wants out of them, but this is different, he doesn’t want to make Dorian’ any offers he can’t actually follow up, but he’s in over his head. The Inquisitor had asked him once, back at Haven, about sex and ‘making love’ and Bull had laughed because for all her combat training there was no hiding her sheltered noble origins as long as she came out with things like that. Now he kind of wishes he could go ask her questions, because Dorian is a friend and maybe more and that’s… not something he knows how to handle. Tread softly then.

“Still figuring out all the crap that comes with being tal-vashoth,” he says, and Dorian’s face softens a little.

“I don’t… there’s plenty of people around who would be grateful for your attentions,” he says. “You’re by no means beholden…”

Bull shakes his head. “Sure there’s plenty of barmaid and stablehands who would go for a tumble,” he concedes. “They have. You’re the only one giving me the special treatment…” he leers it, just to watch Dorian flush and think it’s about him being a good lay as much as it is anything else. Most of the others had seen The Iron Bull as a thing, maybe not in the same way as the Qun did, but nevertheless they had. He hadn’t minded, it was part of his role, but he’s making his own role now and he’s kind of keen on having Dorian’s softness in it. “You do what you want, big guy. But if you want to keep being good to me I’m not going to say no.”

Dorian still looks uncertain, and Bull wishes he hadn’t had to put that look there, but it’s better for both of them if they’re careful with this precious, fragile thing that’s grown up between them. He relaxes against Bull’s side though and nods.

“Very well,” he agrees. “We’ll see if this works.”

Bull hopes it does.


	21. May I hold your hand?

Public displays weren’t Dorian’s thing. That was cool. Or, it would be cool if Bull didn’t firmly suspect that Dorian would deeply enjoy that sort of thing if it weren’t for all of the hang-ups he’d carried with him from Tevinter. So he was pushing. Gently and slowly, but pushing all the same - a hand on Dorian’s shoulder, no different to how he’d treat one of his boys, but he saw the way that Dorian tensed and looked around before relaxing into the touch, and now, as they trailed at the back of the group, Bull held out his left hand, palm up. “May I…?”

Dorian blinked up at him. “May you…?”

Bull sighed. “Hold your hand?” he asked. It wasn’t something he’d go in for normally, he liked having his hands free when there was any chance of combat, but it was quite in Crestwood now that the bandits had been cleared out and the rifts all closed, but the Inquisitor wanted to personally check up on some naturalist living on the outskirts she’d heard about from a villager, so they were taking a day to stroll down to her home. Inefficient, but the Boss needed a break every now and then.

Dorian was looking up at Bull with an expression of perplexed surprise that Bull had previously encountered only once, when he’d casually raised the possibility of rimming Dorian, only to discover that for all of the alleged deviancy in Tevinter they were apparently missing some pretty basic tricks. “Pardon?” Dorian said.

Bull wiggled his fingers. “Your hand, my hand?” he said. “It’s a lovely sunny day, and I hear it’s what all the kids are doing?”

He nodded in the direction of Sera and the Inquisitor, whose entwined hands were swinging between them. It was cute.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “As much as I admire our Inquisitor, she’d hardly a role model.”

“Nah,” agreed Bull, “She’s a baby. But what do you say?”

“If you start swinging my arm around you’re going to have even less fingers,” Dorian grumbled, slipping his hand into Bull’s. It was warm and lotion soft, but his palm was calloused from staff work and his grip was firm. Suddenly there was a shadow overhead, darker than one caused by any cloud and Bull looked up to see the massive reptilian form a dragon swooping overhead… there was no way the Boss would want to leave Crestwood without dealing with that. Today was a good day… a very good day.


	22. an old flame

Bull had come close to calling someone Kadan just one before. It had been a whirlwind affair of three months with another spy playing at being a merc, an Orlesian bard who was juggling three employers each with conflicting interests with the same ease a court jester might toss fruit. Bernadette had been a redhead, fierce and flighty and she'd matched Bull wit for wit, they'd tumbled across battlefields and in and out of each other’s beds and the word had been waiting on his lips when she'd drawn a knife and gone for his throat. "Just business," she'd said with the same teasing laugh she'd used in all their games. "Your employers, my employers - we both know how this goes."

He'd been saved by his boys. She flitted from group to group, no loyalty or allegiances, no friends, and she hadn't account for just how damn fast they'd come running when Bull yelled.

He'd come out of it with a new scar behind his left ear and a few rough mornings from drinking out his frustrations with his guys. Even Ben-Hassrath couldn't read everybody perfect every time.

She'd waltzed into Skyhold in a gown of sumptuous velvet, fluttering her fan and curtsying demurely to each of the Inquisition's noble guests. He almost hadn't recognised her without her armour or the aggressive bearing she'd employed when they'd met, but her eyes had widened just a fraction upon seeing him. No spy liked to be reminded of a job they'd fucked up.

There had been a few days of quiet anticipation after that, wondering if she would be foolish enough to try and finish what she'd started, but instead she'd waltzed into the tavern and flung herself across his lap as if there wasn't a murder attempt and three years of silence between them. Across the tavern Krem stood up, and although Bull wasn't look his knew that the others would be bracing for a fight as well. Even the ones who hadn't been around at the time had heard the story, and would undoubtedly have been on their guard since learning of her presence in the keep.

"It was most unfortunate, what 'appened," she said loudly. "Nothing personal, but we all follow our orders, yes?"

Bull glanced over to the Chargers. No. No you didn't always follow orders, not when it came to the people who mattered, but he hadn't really mattered to Bernadette, not like she'd once mattered to him.

"We do what we do," he said casually, and she'd nodded as if he'd just offered her sincere agreement.

"I am glad I failed though. Oh I missed out on some pay but now..." she ran her silken gloved fingertips up his chest in a gesture he'd once found alluring but now just didn't inspire him. "I wonder what new tricks you've learned. You and I were so very, very good together no?"

"We had fun," Bull acknowledged, letting his mind drift back to some of the fonder memories. Bernadette was flexible. "Thought you were here on business though?"

Bernadette giggled, squirming in her lap. Bull wondered how much of it was the performance of a bard and how much of it was real. Did she really want to bed him or was merely part of a more complex plan?

From the corner of his eye Bull could see Krem gesturing frantically towards the door.

Standing in the doorway with a shocked expression on his face, was Dorian.  Bull had made sure that the Inquisitor had been warned about her presence, and the chargers had prepped each other, but now he realised that he should have warned Dorian too.

For a moment he feared Dorian would walk out, that he'd have to chase his Kadan through the keep to reassuring that whatever thoughts the sight of Bernadette all over Bull had inspired they weren't true. Instead Dorian got a steely look in his eye, straightening his spine before turning sharply away from them and walking towards the bar.

Bernadette was still reminiscing fondly of the days before she'd attempted to murder Bull when Dorian walked back over, a flagon of ale in each hand.

"Amatus," he said, leaning around Bernadette to place a firm kiss against Bull's lips. He placed one flagon directly into Bull's outstretched hand and kept the other to himself. "It's been such a tiresome morning. That librarian, really - what was the Inquisitor thinking?"

"He's been giving you trouble?"

"Oh, Bull did not say he had made a friend," Bernadette commented, shifting slightly to block the line of sight between Dorian and Bull. "Who are you?"

"He's been shelving the books in Tevene with those in ancient Tevene again. As if just because he can't tell the difference nobody else will notice either!" Dorian sidestepped to lean against the wooden beam diagonal from Bull.

"Well, nobody other that you will, Kadan," Bull pointed out.

Dorian rolled his eyes. "Not true. A handful of the circle researchers have at least a simple grasp, and a few of our associates at the University of Orlais came from Tevinter. The man is simply lazy!"

Bernadette widened her eyes. "There are Tevinters from the university here? How fascinating? Bull, you must tell me all about them. Perhaps we could go back to your room?" She was a decent actress but she couldn't quite keep the annoyance out of her voice - she'd always loathed being ignored. Krem, who clearly remembered that fact as well as Bull, was smirking in his seat now.

"I take it you complained?" Bull said.

"Of course," Dorian said with a nod, "Seeking out mis-shelved books is an unacceptable delay to my work."

"Library work sounds terribly dull," Bernadette remarked pointedly.

Bull laughed. "So did you just come to grumble about the librarian or did you want something?"

"Oh I want something, alright," Dorian said. "But I don't think this is quite the proper place for it. If you'd follow me to my rooms though..." He smirked.

Bull stood, steadying Bernadette so she wouldn't fall, and then stepped around her, wrapping his arm around Dorian's waist. "I can't wait."

From across the room, Dalish shot Bull a double thumbs up.


	23. Bull has to physically drag Dorian away from a visiting noble because the noble just said something very stupid and Dorian is milliseconds away from a throw down

“It’s most unfortunate, the university is letting in all sorts of riff raff these days-”

From his place behind Bull an Orlesian accented voice is speaking sufficiently loudly as to be unmistakably rude - projecting his voice in a manner that made it clear that he thinks the whole hall ought to be subjected to his inane opinions. Across the hall, Josephine and Vivienne share a fleeting glance, silently expressing their distaste for those who felt that unearned arrogance and public cruelties were the way to get ahead in court. Opposite him Dorian scowls and forks a potato with unnecessary viciousness.

Apparently unaware that he’s drawing nothing but scorn from anybody of note in the room, the man continues, “Why a few years ago there was a Tevinter in the mathematics department! Such a disgrace!”

Dorian pushes his chair back with a noisy scrape, nearly toppling it as he stands, but the loud-mouthed nobleman just keeps talking. “He took a leave of absence so as to return to his family for All Soul’s day and never returned - no doubt he realised that there was no place for him in those exalted halls. Good riddance to bad-”

Bull doesn't catch the rest because it’s drowned out by Dorian’s cry of, “How dare you!” as he vaults the damn table and Bull has to lunge to grab hold of him.

Dorian, ever a fighter, thrashes in Bull’s grip, kicking hard enough that Bull will have bruises tomorrow, but there is no tell-tale crackle of magic, no sudden shift in temperature to indicate that Dorian is warping the fade, just a torrent of vicious sounding Tevene, too fast for Bull to catch all of it but what he does recognise is unquestionably foul.

"Kadan," he says, "Dorian, you need to calm yourself." People are staring and for all his talk about cultivating a scandalous reputation Dorian doesn't actually like it when the gossip gets vicious.

Dorian gaps, curses again, and Bull realises that whatever part of Dorian that normally practises restraint is buried deep under this unexpected bloodlust. Dorian is in no frame of mind to be talked down. Instead, he hoists Dorian higher, tipping the mage securely over his shoulder and carries him out of the room. Bull suspects that Dorian will be embarrassed by that later, but not as much as he would feel shameful had he actually hurt the fool. Dorian's thrashing ceases as Bull carries him up the tower to his own room, a more discretely accessed location than Bull's space above the tavern.

He locked the door behind him and settles Dorian down on the bed. There's no fury on his face now, though his eyes are red rimmed and damp.

"Dorian?" Bull asks, a dozen questions all at once: what happened? why did you do that? what do you need?

Dorian shudders though he keeps his room hot as hell, and shakes his head. "I'm sorry. That was not fitting of a representative of the Inquisition."

"That doesn't matter," Bull says. He's concerned about Dorian right now, the Inquisitor can handle themself.

"No, you deserve an explanation. Come, sit. Do you remember Alexius's son?" Dorian says. "Felix was a good friend of mine..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still here! Just had a busy few weeks. Also 200+ kudos now - I'm in awe :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> magic bond

It’s shocking and a little embarrassing how long it takes for them to notice.

In late spring, when Vivienne returned to Ghislain for a month in order to deal with aspects of the Duke’s estate which demanded her direct oversight, Dorian took on her role as the magical support for the Inquisitor’s field team - and since Blackwall had no stomach for necromancy, it was only sensible that Bull join them in order to deal with any situations that demanded greater strength that the Inquisitor or Sera could muster.

The Inquisitor is called out only once during that month, to deal with a sudden increase in demonic presence that initially seems to be caused by a disturbing resurgence of rift activity, but turns out actually to be the work of a young mage’s inexpert attempt to bind her dolls to herself to keep her brothers from breaking them.

They make short work of the demons and the Inquisitor spends three days in conference with the girl’s parents that ends in the entire family agreeing to move to Skyhold so that the child can receive the tutelage she needs to dissuade her from the idea of reckless magic, without tearing the girl from her parents.

After that they return to Skyhold and weeks slip by and turn to months in an oddly soothing routine in which Bull trains those of Skyhold’s forces whose styles don’t quite suit Cullen’s or Leliana’s people, and Dorian continues to improve Skyhold’s library and integrate a broader variety of texts into their collection.

The trees are aflame with copper and gold when Sera takes ill with an early cold and, Varric having returned to Kirkwall at long last, the Inquisitor asks Dorian out as extra ranged support. He acquiesces without hesitation, but within hours of riding out his head is pounding and his stomach is in knots, his face apparently pale enough that the Inquisitor turns back. In his own bed and under Bull’s firm care, Dorian recovers quickly, but leery of him relapsing under strain, the next time the Inquisitor leaves she forgoes ranged support and instead arranged for Bull to serve as a bodyguard.

The morning after they leave Dorian wakes running a fever that has the servants rushing in alarm for a healer, who claims to find no fault with him, nor any reason that Dorian’s sickness seems stubborn while Sera’s passed quickly. The fever peaks that night and for several hours Dorian is delirious, utterly convinced of being in a tent and loudly objecting to conversations unheard by his caretakers.

The next morning the fever breaks and by the time the Inquisitor’s party make an unexpectedly early return that evening, Dorian is well enough to be eager to greet Bull personally, and when he hears that Bull had also taken sick while away, Dorian slips out of his room to seek out the party.

With each step towards the Herald’s rest, Dorian feels lighter and more relaxed but when he arrives at Bull’s room it is immediately clear that all is not right.

Bull appears well enough, sitting up in his bed and complaining of feeling fine and in no need of confinement. Vivienne stands at his bedside and if she were anything less than the pinnacle of control Dorian is sure that he would sense frissons of static in the air. She meets his gaze with the utmost disapproval.

“I expected better of you, darling,” she says, fixing Dorian with a look that suggests she is deeply regretting ever placing him so high in her estimation

Dorian would like to think that under better circumstances his response might have been wittier, but fatigue from his illness, concern for Bull and the surprise of Vivienne showing him a degree of disdain she hadn’t in many months caused him to offer only a weary, “Pardon?”

Vivienne tuts. “You’ve been bespelled for week. To not even notice….”

Dorian’s eyebrows started upwards. “Bespelled?” From his bed, Bull frowns, looking uncomfortable.

“There is a messy but effective binding between Bull and yourself. As far as I can tell it has gone unnoticed for some time, since you have until now been in too close proximity to trigger it.”

Bull pales. “Exactly how long have we been under this spell for?”

Vivienne frowns. “Based on the distance which seemed to strain it? Since some time after Dorian’s trip out with the Inquisitor to deal with the avaar.”

Not, Dorian realised, with no small rush of relief, so long ago that the legitimacy of their relationship might be brought into question by this knowledge. And since there had only been one major magical misadventure since that event… “Oh, that girl from the plains who wished to keep her toys safe.”

Bull’s face softens, perhaps from the reassurance of knowing that whatever its effect the spell had come from an innocent source.

“Can it be undone?” Bull asks and, knowing that Bull’s unease around magic has been something the man has worked hard to overcome, Dorian holds back his laughter.

“Misadventures in binding spells are, quite literally, child’s play in Tevinter. The Inquisitor might have been shocked by the girl bespelling her belonging to herself but it’s common enough practise in Tevinter, abeit usually with fewer side effects.”

“So you can undo it.”

Dorian hesitates, glancing over a Vivienne. Vivienne shoulders rise and fall in the most refined of shrugs. “It would be possible for one of us to do it, but it would take time. Or we could ask the girl…” Dorian hesistes, trying to recal her name.

“Bella,” Bull supplies, because of course he’d remember.

Dorian nods. “With her assistance it would take little more than a short ritual.” Bull flinches at the word ritual, and Dorian adds quickly, “Harmless. But it will likely be quicker and easier if Vivienne or I facilitate her undoing the spell instead of teaching alone.”

Bull nods.

“I shall fetch her immediately,” Vivienne says, but Bull holds out his hand to stop her.

“Wait,” he says slowly, “It’s late.” He took a deep breath. “The spell is no harm, no sense in dragging a little girl out of bed for something which can wait until morning. Dorian can just stay here tonight.”

Dorian nods at the same time Vivienne points out, “The proximity is hardly so tight as that. As long as you’re both within Skyhold there should be no issues.”

There’s a long pause.

“Better to be safe than ill again,” Dorian asserts and Vivienne rolls her eyes.

“Very well. Present yourselves at the mage’s tower in the morning and we’ll get this mess tidied up then.”

She leaves and Bull lifts up his blankets as Dorian steps out of his boots. They can hardly continue indefinitely under this bespelled closeness, sooner or later they wouldn’t be able to avoid parting beyond the boundaries of the spell, but for now there was no reason not to enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? I haven't in fact dropped off the face of the planet?  
> No I've just been ridic busy with both work and uni but today I've found myself stuck at my desk for a while with nothing to be getting on with so... ta da!

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is damnyoualex.tumblr.com if anybody wants to talk to me over there and/or get in on the prompting goodness.


End file.
